


At the End of the Rope

by Draconicmaw



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: A dab of angst for flavor, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Bottom Dark Magician, Celtic Guardian is given a name, Consent is Sexy, Creampie, Dark Magician Girl is called Mana, Dark Magician is called Mahad, Duel Spirit Worlds -- the vague edition, Friends to Lovers, I've seen it labeled as both so tell me if one is wrong, M/M, Mahad is very very sexually frustrated, Mahad's staff gets touched -- both figurative and literal interpretations should be applied, Massage, Monstershipping, Multiple Orgasms, One-sided Sealshipping, Oral Sex, Rimming, Runeshipping - Freeform, Top Celtic Guardian, messy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw
Summary: A gift fic for my fanfic bestie, Angel Fantasy. Happy belated birthday!Mahad hasn't been touched in three thousand years. This, as one might expect, leads to unbearable amounts of sexual frustration. Mahad can't focus, can't work, can't even cast spells correctly when he's so greatly distracted by something so very sinful and shameful. Hopefully, a trip to translate an ancient spellbook will give him a distraction from his distraction. Celtic Guardian tags along on the journey, and he reveals that he knows Mahad's embarrassing problem. And he offers to help Mahad in ways Mahad has only ever dreamed of.Can Mahad let go long enough to find release after all these millennia?Or is it too late to let anyone in?
Relationships: Black Magician | Dark Magician/Elf no Kenshi | Celtic Guardian
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angel_Fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Fantasy/gifts).



> Celtic Guardian is named Cahal: a Celtic name meaning "strong in battle." The mortal names for the magicians are used because I like them and it keeps things clear and concise. 
> 
> In this, it is mentioned that Atem is in love with someone else, and I left that up to the reader to decide (I honestly had no one in particular in mind -- it could be Pegasus for all I care, but the main point is that Atem is physically and emotionally unavailable).
> 
> I read up on what I had the attention span for when I researched the Duel Spirits Worlds (as they appear and are mentioned in DM and GX), and I decided to keep things vague and embellish on what suited the story. 
> 
> And, the most important note of all: Angel, happy belated birthday! I hope you enjoy this tasty little story I wrote you <3

The feelings were strange and complex, but the simplest word could describe it all: shame. Mahad was _ashamed_ , of his thoughts, of his feelings, of his _actions_ when he was alone at night and the only things he had to comfort himself were his hazy, patchwork fantasies and his own two hands. The loneliness gnawed inside him like a living creature coiled his in guts, in his head, in his heart, in places he dared not mention in civilized conversations.

He _ached_ , all day, every day, to be _touched_ , to _touch_. He wanted to be kissed and fondled and sucked and _claimed_. It was _distracting_ and it was affecting his work and, dammit, he couldn’t fall asleep without waking up sweaty and needy and his resolve crumbling until he touched himself. 

But perhaps the most shameful part was what, or perhaps, _who_ he thought of when comforting himself and muffling his pathetic whimpers with bed linens.

It was _wrong_. He was Atem’s most trusted servant, Atem’s loyal magician and fighter. Atem was Mahad’s prince, his _pharaoh_ , and, most importantly, his friend. It was indecent -- no, _depraved_ to think of Atem in this manner. 

Especially when Atem’s heart belonged to another.

Atem would never love Mahad the way Mahad loved Atem, and it was fated to be so. Mahad’s thoughts were an exercise in futility, disgusting futility. Though Atem didn’t know -- could never know -- Mahad still felt as though he were breaking his king’s trust in the most vile of ways. 

He held his face in trembling hands as he sat the edge of his bed. The afterglow of pleasure was so bitter, so disgusting, it made his skin crawl.

Mahad had never felt shame of this magnitude before.

He held back the tears that lingered on the edge of each breath.

Never like this.

“Ra preserve me…”

* * *

When he cracked the book open, dust blossomed up and out, carrying the strong scent of aged parchment. Magic radiated off each page in a thick, heady aura. Mahad hummed privately, thumbed through the pages. Diagrams drawn in a thick black ink scrawled across every page. Runes of some sort, a language ancient and forgotten, lined the tops and the bottoms of each sheet neatly. Mahad traced his fingers over them, felt the way their potent magic reared against his touch. It was atavistic, primordial, magic pure and untampered, elemental and raw. This was magic before man, when the cosmos stewed heavily and planets formed from hot swirling balls of magma and gas. But the runes were newer, a race young and strangely wise of things they had no way of witnessing.

He hummed again and flipped the page. It might take a while for him to decipher the writing, but it was sure to be a riveting read once he did. 

He nibbled his lip, eyes tracking to the side and those thoughts whispered like a fiend in his ear. It was so strange and distracting, the way the _outside_ of his body could feel so _empty_. The way he felt like he had holes in the space around him, holes the shape and size of hands, pressing into him, fondling him, stroking him, _squeezing_ him, of hips pressing into his from behind, heavy and teasing. But no, no such thing happened, and instead he was left aching and yearning and _incomplete_. 

He breathed out heavily, exhausted and exasperated. He couldn’t even focus! Not when these lustful thoughts and yearnings assailed him whenever he let his guard down. He pressed his hand hard to his face, rubbed his eyes, and didn’t care if he rubbed them red and raw with the force he was using. 

Pathetic. He was pathetic. 

He forced himself to look back down at the spellbook. Runes, translating, reading magic. He had to keep himself busy, keep himself focussed on _something_. 

He downed the glass of water at his side and quickly put it back when he'd drained every last drop.

"Mahad!" came the chirp, and he looked up to see Mana flouncing through the door to his laboratory. 

"Hello, Mana," he replied, quiet, quickly looking back down to flip through the book some more. Good, good, conversation with Mana was often distracting… though often… _vexing_ , too. 

"We have a visitor!" And her smile froze as she leaned in to look at the book. "What is this?" He let her tug it away from him as he looked up again to the broad figure standing in the doorway.

"Ah," he smiled, a small smile, "Cahal." 

The Elven knight was nearly twice as wide at the shoulders than Mahad's current form and nearly just as tall, and made quite the imposing silhouette. But Mahad felt no fear. He gestured for Cahal to cross the threshold.

"It's good to see you. Thank you for coming on such short notice," Mahad continued. Cahal's armor rattled faintly and his boots thumped on the stone flooring as he stepped closer.

A hum, low and thoughtful, those amber eyes staring right into Mahad's own. "It's my pleasure, Mahad." 

"I have a favor to ask of you." Mahad gently plucked the book from Mana's grasp. "These runes… I believe they are an ancient form of Elven writing." He opened the book toward Cahal and slid it gently across the table. "Here. Though you may not be able to decipher it, I'm hoping you know someone who could."

Orange eyes looked away, down to the book. His lips parted, and he gently touched the text, only to flinch his hand away. Though Cahal wasn't a magic user, all Elves were sensitive to magical energy -- even he could sense the power rolling off the pages. 

"Where did you find this?" came the quiet question. 

"Some ruins I was investigating. It was radiating magical energy, and this is why," Mahad tapped a finger on a diagram. "It's old, and the magic is… primordial. It's raw, unadulterated. Not the… ah, processed, you might even say _domestic_ energy often used now. Magic of this caliber is incredibly difficult to harness, much less confine in writing." 

Cahal hummed, delicately flipped the page. "It's Elven." He breathed carefully, shallowly, and Mahad wondered if the magic was as thick and heady to Cahal as it had been to Mahad. "But… I'm sorry." Amber flicked back up to Mahad's. "I cannot read it. It is indeed an ancient dialect, one that died long before my time."

Mahad nodded, hand at his chin, fingers thrumming on the work table. "I feared as much."

"There's only one I know who could possibly decipher this," Cahal continued, and he closed the book softly. 

Mahad arched an eyebrow. 

"Ancient Elf."

"Of course," Mahad sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead. It was so _obvious_! Why hadn't Mahad thought of that?

The thrumming and aching of his body vied for his attention, and the answer was clear. He cursed quietly. 

His damn libido was far too troublesome! 

He moved his hand, dropped it to the table. He looked up.

Amber eyes were piercing into him, slitted pupils dilated with interest.

He swallowed but didn't break eye contact. "Thank you for the help, Cahal."

"... It's my pleasure, Mahad."

"What's your plan, then?" Mana asked, reaching for the book and drawing it back towards her. 

Mahad frowned at her, but warm pride flowed through him. Mana was just as inquisitive and hungry for knowledge as he was. 

"I shall pay him a visit under the aspiration that he can decipher the text and that he’s willing to share its knowledge with me." He sighed quietly.

That could end one of two ways -- spellcasters were either eager to share their knowledge with others, or they coveted their secrets like a dragon hoarded gems. 

“Are you going to teleport there?” Mana murmured, flipping through the pages and tracing her fingers along the diagrams and greeting the magic trapped within them. 

Mahad clenched his teeth slightly. That… wouldn’t be a good idea. At this rate, he’d botch the spell and send his body there in a million gruesome pieces. 

“No,” he finally managed. “I’ll travel there on foot.” Though he wasn’t sure that his safety guarantee graduated at all when it came to traveling on foot… but hopefully he was less likely to end up a horribly mangled corpse. “The matter is by no means pressing, and I enjoy spending time on the road, out in nature.”

Ah, camping. It reminded him of his years as a mortal, though even then he did not have much free time. However, sleeping beneath the stars remained one of his favorite experiences to date. Perhaps the night air would clear his impure thoughts.

(Though Mahad’s skeptical side doubted it, he couldn’t help but _hope_.)

“Oh!” Mana gasped. “Can I come?”

Mahad breathed out slowly. “No, I have an important job for you.” And she immediately stood up straighter like a soldier at attention. “I need you to watch after my experiments in my stead.” She nodded resolutely. “And _please_ , for the love of Ra, _do not blow up the laboratory again._ ” At that she wilted guiltily but still nodded. “I was almost certain that we were not going to be able to bounce back from the last time. And I’m _entirely_ certain our neighbors still aren’t all that fond of you because of that incident.”

“It won’t happen again!” she chirped, saluting him. 

“I’ll hold you to that, Mana.”

* * *

Mahad walked Cahal out; he’d given Mana a rather vigorous ingredient-gathering assignment in hopes of expelling some of her energy before their periodical theoretical discussion later that day. 

The walk was mostly in companionable silence, but when they reached the ivy-matted gate that marked the chosen location for Mahad’s magic laboratory and domicile, Cahal turned towards him and regarded Mahad with those unreadable amber eyes.

“Do you wish for any traveling companion at all?” Cahal said, low and quiet. “I’ve been planning to travel that way for a while now, and I would enjoy the company if you would, too.”

Mahad paused a moment to give it a healthy amount of serious consideration. While traveling alone would hopefully reduce any embarrassing mishaps (he was certain he whimpered in his sleep as his nightly fevers overcame him, and he’d rather not concern a valued friend with this strange behaviors), traveling with a companion would hopefully prove a distraction to his current and persistent… problem. 

And Cahal was a dear friend for a reason -- easy and pleasant to talk to, but never had Mahad experienced an awkward silence when in his company. Mahad did not feel pressured to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. Not that he ever gave in to those pressures when he felt them around others, but it certainly gave an air of comfort to their interactions that Mahad appreciated greatly. 

Some quiet company would be nice for the journey to Ancient Elf's lair. 

"I would enjoy that very much, Cahal," Mahad replied with a gentle smile. "I plan on leaving early on the morrow. Does such a time work for you?"

An incline of that sharp chin. "It does. Shall I meet you here?"

Mahad resisted the urge to purse his lips. It wasn't too far of a walk from Cahal's current domicile to here, and it would be on the way, anyways. "That sounds like a plan."

"Then here we shall meet at dawn?"

"Here we shall meet at dawn."

* * *

Mahad packed lightly -- all of his needed items stored away in his magical satchel. Mana had compared it to "Mary Poppins' Carpet Bag," whatever that meant. (Though Mahad figured it meant Mana spent far too much time watching the Mortal World when she should've been practicing or studying.)

He tilted his head to breathe in the crisp morning breeze. The air helped clear his head, if only a little. It had been another long night, and his body hurt with how tense he was. Perhaps it was time for him to brew a sleeping potion every night. Maybe an extra sedative to relax his strung-out muscles.

"A good morning, is it not?" A deep voice asked, and Mahad turned his head to watch Cahal approach the ivy-laden gates. 

"Yes, the weather is fine, perfect for traveling," Mahad replied, giving a small smile of greeting to his old friend.

Cahal shouldered his pack a little more firmly, hand on the pommel of the sword strapped to his waist. "Indeed. Ready?"

"Yes." Mahad stared at the pack, then looked to his own satchel. "Do you want me to carry your bag?" He lifted the satchel up. 

Cahal frowned quizzically, and it seemed mostly curious as he handed his pack over.

The satchel in Mahad's hands twitched, then leapt, flap opening and gaping like a mouth, and it snatched Cahal's pack right from his hands and gulped it down. It slumped into Mahad's grasp as if nothing had happened.

Wide amber eyes blinked down at an empty hand.

Mahad chuckled. "Don't worry: you'll get it back."

Cahal grunted, shaking his head and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I suppose we should be on our way, then."

* * *

It would be a few days' walk to the ruins that Ancient Elf called home, but Mahad was looking forward to each and every minute. Already, Cahal proved to be quite the delightful traveling companion: an attentive listener with dry, witty humor, and when he talked, each word was spoken with genuine consideration. As an Elf, Cahal knew the power of words and used that power with all the respect it deserved. 

Cahal was speaking quietly now, detailing carefully an answer to Mahad's question on Elven cultural rituals that were inherently imbued with magic, like the renaming of an adolescent that marked the transition into adulthood, and the meals prepared for holy festivals that were blessed to honor the Elven gods. 

All things affected the magic of a race -- from biology to culture and social norms, so it all held great importance to the study of magic. What someone believed magic to be, how they believed it functioned both as a tool and a cosmic force, ultimately shaped how they used magic. Mahad found the subject utterly fascinating, and though Cahal did not actively practice Elven magic, he was raised in a traditional Elven community, steeped in culture and ritual. 

The Elves believed magic to be a unifying force, connecting all of nature, every plant and every creature, and believed that magic flowed through as if in a cycle, like water. They believed that the physical world and magic were intertwined, inseparable, that one could not exist without the other.

It differed greatly from the theories Mahad had learned when he was but a mortal magician's apprentice -- that magic was something dark and unnatural, a demon to be tamed and bound, something that _threatened_ the order of the natural world. Something to be understood and harnessed by only those with great skill, or by the gods themselves. 

But when Mahad viewed it from a biological perspective, it all fell into place. Elves, all Elves, were sensitive to magic, though few may not be able to tap into it themselves. But humans… only a few humans were born with a sensitivity to magic, much less with the capability to manipulate it at will.

To humans, then, magic was something obscure, mysterious, and frightening. 

But to Elves… magic was merely a fact of life, a constant in their everyday world. 

"To us, there is magic in the wind, in the rain, in the animals we hunt and the crops we grow," Cahal continued. "There is magic in words and in actions. And so, everything in our society is arranged in such a way as to keep the balance, the harmony, to do no harm."

"Fascinating," Mahad replied, deep in thought. Perhaps there was solid truth to the way Elves viewed magic, especially here in the Duel Spirit Worlds. The magic here was more plentiful, seemingly bursting from every crevice, from every nook and cranny. Or perhaps the magic here was just in harmony with the inhabitants, teasing it from its hiding place and blooming like a well-groomed flower. 

"When I was mortal," Mahad began slowly, carefully piecing together the sentences in his head, "and, apparently, this is even truer now, very few humans were innately capable of using magic. Magic was therefore… unpredictable, and that made humans consider it to be very dangerous. Like fire, which can be harnessed and used as a tool to improve one's life, but, if handled irresponsibly, could rage out of control and hurt someone." He hummed. "We treated magic more like it was a wild beast we had tamed, a wild beast that could turn on us at a moment's notice." Cahal nodded thoughtfully, a profound expression on his face as he considered Mahad's words. "We viewed it as something inherently chaotic, something that requires intense training to control and utilize."

"And, if you lost your handle on it…" Cahal surmised, "... the beast would bite you."

"Ah, precisely."

"... And what do you think is the most accurate?" Cahal asked, looking over to Mahad with his quiet amber eyes. 

Mahad hummed. "I… am not quite sure. I think both perspectives have merit, but neither encompass the entire truth. For instance, the Elven perspective of magic simply does not encompass some of the horrors I bore witness to when I was alive. But, clearly, magic does not need to be as tightly leashed as humans once believed. Or, perhaps, the magic of the worlds are inherently different, and must be approached as such." He paused. And the air was filled only with the sounds of their steps and the birds chirping in the trees. "There are many mysteries about magic that have not been solved. By me, by others. But these are things I hope to learn. And I can only do that by considering all of the perspectives. By looking beneath every rock, by reading between every line. No stone unturned, as they say."

"An admirable -- and formidable -- quest."

"I suppose, though it would be much more daunting if I had only a mortal lifespan in which to achieve it." (However the thought was _still_ daunting -- if he couldn’t recenter his focus, he wasn’t sure how much progress he would manage to make on _any_ project.)

He sighed. What a mess. All of his aspirations dashed by something he _should_ be able to control.

“Mahad, is something the matter?” Cahal asked quietly.

Mahad shook his head, took another deep breath, though consciously quieter than the last. “No, everything is fine.”

And he unknowingly lengthened his strides, and was unwitting to the amber eyes that with a knowing glint tracked his every move.

* * *

The flames casted their orange glow over the trees in a dance of light and shadow. Mahad held his staff in his hand, across his knees, and twisted and tilted it, watched the light catch on and glance off of its gleaming surface.

"Mahad…" Cahal began. "I've always wondered… of what is your staff made?" His amber eyes were affixed on it, and the firelight made his irises glitter and burn like exotic jewels. 

Mahad blinked. "Glass." He held the staff out, as if offering an infant to hold.

Cahal reached, but hovered just over the gleaming aqua surface. He looked back to Mahad for confirmation. Mahad inclined his chin. 

He changed the position of his hands, dropping under to pick it up from beneath. He cautiously brought it closer for inspection, thick fingers trailing over the glass with reverence.

"You need not touch it so cautiously," Mahad assured, a chuckle in his voice, "it is imbued with magic that will prevent it from shattering if dropped."

Cahal hummed, but he held it more confidently, twisted and shifted it to admire it from different angles. it looked so small and thin in his large hands. "Excellent craftsmanship, rivaling even that of Elves." His thick thumb swiped over the orb at the top.

Mahad's mouth was dry, and he gulped as discreetly as he could.

"It's beautiful," Cahal murmured. His fingertips traced over the pointed tip, reminiscent of Mahad's own helmet.

It should have been innocuous, watching Cahal admire the craftsmanship of his staff. 

_But it wasn't._

Watching those strong fingers smooth down the glassy shaft made heat percolate to Mahad's inner thighs, and he forced himself to breathe calmly, to try to slow his racing heart. 

"I," he gulped again. "I am going to rest for the night." He turned to lay out his bed roll. 

Cahal was a dear friend and didn't deserve to be on the end of Mahad's impure thoughts. 

Cahal only hummed and laid the staff down next to Mahad's satchel. "I shall, too, then."

* * *

_Hands stroked, tugged at him, slick and drawing the pleasure from deep in his bones. He could only pant as his thighs twitched and every blood vessel in his body throbbed with lust. Pumping, just fast enough to make the pleasure melting and indulgent but just slow enough to draw out that straining climb to the top. Shapely lips parted on a smirk, bared white teeth that fit together neatly until jaws separated and a hot pink tongue flickered out teasingly._

_Fingertips rolled at his nipples, made his head sag back, and he rocked himself into every sensation. Somehow, he was being touched everywhere, his chest and his sensitive inner thighs and right where he was hot and hard with irresistible desire. “Ahn,” he whimpered. It was incredible, every second of it, and he arched and bowed when breath wafted over the sweat-slicked skin of his pectoral muscle. He looked back down, saw that tongue swipe at those sinful lips, and knew the promise that lurked in those eyes. That tongue dropped down, just about to_ lave _over his tender skin --_

_“A-Atem!”_

Mahad lurched awake, gasping against his pillow. His whole body was _burning_ and twitching against his warm bedroll. Damn, damn it, no, he was humping and grinding against it like some filthy animal! Panting, he buried his face into his pillow and willed the instinctive undulating of his hips to a stop. He could feel it, heavy between his hips and the bedroll. He was so close to _bursting_ , it hurt, it felt so good, he was in prison and paradise simultaneously.

No, no, _no_ , Mahad was no slave to his animal instincts! He could… he could resist this…! Out here, in the middle of the forest, a mere handful of meters away from his friend, if there was any time to _not_ give in, it was now! 

He rolled onto his back, careful not to make too much more noise and hopeful that it would lessen the temptation to grind himself to completion against his bedroll. But now he was exposed to the temptation of his _hands_ , hands that were already fighting not to wander the now-sensitive planes of Mahad’s heaving body. 

He forced his eyes to dart to the sky, to study the stars between the patchwork of leaves above him. A slight breeze caressed its way through the trees, but the thick blanket over Mahad kept it from chilling him too deeply. The double moons shone down with their silver reflections, and he intensely studied their mottled appearances. He breathed deeply, in, out, imagined that each cool intake was washing the heat from his veins and replacing it with argent nighttime tranquility. 

He focused on relaxing his body, unclenching each muscle one-by-one, until he was slack against his bed roll and blinking lazily up at the sky. Lust still burned through him, but it seemed the fresh night air helped with the worst of it. Sighing tightly, he rolled onto his side and forced himself to stay still, eyes closed, until he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

After another day of traveling, they settled down to camp for the night. The sky was crystal clear, but the western edge of the horizon was still stained a brilliant red that faded out into purple and dark navy blue. They’d made good time that day; they’d only need about a day and half more of walking before they reached their destination. 

Cahal was stoking the campfire, and the red glow shifted in his amber eyes and made the irises seem like molten gold or honey.

Mahad looked back down to the spellbook in his hands. He was no closer to deciphering the runes on its pages, but he felt drawn to the magic lurking within the text. It greeted him warmly each time, arching against his fingertips like a loving cat. Despite his fascination, his attention was still continuously drawn away, and he set the book aside with an exasperated sigh. 

“You have been struggling to focus,” Cahal said, low and calm, tranquil, almost. 

Mahad breathed in tightly. So it was obvious. Though he hadn’t put too much effort forth to hide his current problems, not when all of said effort was diverted to hiding just _why_ exactly he was having problems. “I have,” he replied, leaning his face into his hand and watching the flames dance in a mirage of red and orange and yellow. The crisp smell of wood smoke comforted him somewhat.

“You are… frustrated,” Cahal continued.

Mahad couldn’t deny it, so he nodded. “Incredibly.”

Cahal inhaled deeply, chest straining against the tight brown clothing he wore under his armor. Watching it was… 

Mahad looked away.

“We Elves…” Cahal began, slowly, with that careful consideration for each word, “... are… innately empathic.”

Mahad froze, looking back at his friend. Dread unfurled in his stomach and crawled up his throat. Cahal couldn’t be saying…

“We feel the emotions of those around us,” Cahal elaborated. 

Cahal _was_ saying exactly what Mahad feared.

All of the blood rushed away from Mahad’s face and left him light-headed. “I…”

“There is tension brewing deep within you,” Cahal continued, “thick and unbearable.” Then his tone took on a raspy, husky quality, a tone that made something deep and primal in Mahad shiver. “Even if I couldn’t _feel_ it, I can _smell_ it on you. It’s so very strong.” And now the blood returned with a vengeance, and Mahad’s face was burning and he pressed shaking hands to it. “I feel it; you have denied yourself the touch of another for far too long, and I know that you yearn for a specific person, one unreachable to you, but, even so, you do not have to suffer through it all alone.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Mahad breathed, nearly whimpering with mortification. This was horrible, the stuff of absolute nightmares. 

“I’m saying that many would be _more_ than willing to help you, to release you from your agony.” And, somehow, Cahal had ended up at Mahad’s side, and his strong, battle-worn fingers touched Mahad’s chin with all the gentleness of a spring breeze. “ _I_ am willing to help you. I’d be _eager_ to do so,” Cahal murmured. Mahad tried to turn away, but Cahal’s hand on his shoulder turned him back around. “Please, don’t be ashamed. Your urges are natural -- healthy, even.”

And Mahad finally found the courage to meet Cahal’s eyes. That amber was _burning_ , hungry like the fire, and Mahad’s breath caught in his throat. “You… want… with _me_?”

Cahal’s touch remained restrained, comforting, his callused thumb brushing Mahad’s cheekbone. “You underestimate your charm, magician.”

Mahad had no response to that, except for a deepening flush and a fluttering in his heart. But still, he said, with self-contempt, “I should be able to _control_ myself. It’s shameful.”

“No,” Cahal hushed, “no, some things cannot be controlled. When you try to leash it and repress it, it only _grows_.”

Mahad understood that sentiment far too well, he supposed. 

“If you do not wish for such contact with me, I understand,” Cahal said, low and soothing, “but, as your friend, I wanted to address this issue that is plaguing you so.” He set his hand back in his own lap, but his gaze remained affixed to Mahad’s. “If my presence now makes you uncomfortable, I can depart and find somewhere else to rest, and we can travel separately come morning.”

Something small and pathetic in Mahad was tempted to take up that offer -- to avoid this embarrassment and the other… emotions stirring in his chest. But the larger part of him, the part of him that valued his friends was grateful to Cahal for being so concerned, and it won the internal struggled single-handedly. 

“No, no, please, I… I would rather you stay,” Mahad said quickly. “I’ll… I’ll consider it. It is much to process.”

Cahal’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I know it is, and do not feel any pressure to come to any decision right away. Take your time. You shall know what you want when you are ready.”

“Th-Thank you,” Mahad whispered, and Cahal simply inclined his head. 

That night, for the first time ever, the silence was tense between them as they ate dinner and prepared themselves for sleep. 

And though Cahal’s offer daunted Mahad’s conscious mind, it seemed his subconscious was far more receptive -- in his dreams, instead of violet eyes staring down at him as he was touched so perversely, amber irises watched with dilated slit pupils as Mahad bit back gasps and mewls. The hands on him were bigger and thicker and meatier, and the difference made something hot and shuddering unravel in Mahad’s lungs. 

He could hardly look Cahal in the eye anymore come morning, and though he told himself that he was still considering the offer, some dark part of him knew that he’d made up his mind already.

* * *

It started that morning. Or perhaps, Mahad began to _notice_ it that morning. Eyes lingering on him, never too intrusive, but _there_ , observing, _admiring him_.

_You underestimate your charm, magician._

How long had Cahal been so _clearly_ broadcasting his attraction? How long had Mahad been too distracted by his own urges to even notice what was so completely obvious now?

But Cahal had been respectful, keeping a distance and refraining from any flirtatious or invasive behaviors. And his patience with Mahad -- no pressure to give an answer, if ever, and offering to give him space if Mahad so needed or desired it. It was a rarity among Duel Spirits -- creatures as free in sex as they were in anything else, creatures that spoke of their sexual acitivity as if they were discussing the weather that day, creatures that bared their attractions for all to know. Even over the millennia, Mahad retained his conservative tendencies that he’d developed as a human, and he was touched that Cahal respected them for however long he has been respecting them.

However… the thought that Cahal fantasized about Mahad the way Mahad fantasized about Atem… well, the mere notion of such a thing had heat striking through his veins like lightning. His breath caught and his heart pounded, and tingling warmth licked up the insides of his thighs. And he _knew_ Cahal would know when such feelings came over him, and he _did_ , because those eyes became ever steadier on his form, and the cycle continued through the morning and into the afternoon, and Mahad could hardly speak, lest he turn into a sweating, stuttering mess in front of his companion. 

But then the tension broke. Not between the two travelers, but in the sky, where huge gray clouds had been gathering into a larger and larger and darker and darker mass by the hour. White light flashed across the sky, and the boom of the thunderclap boomed not long after. The storm was threatening to be intense, the way the air still crackled, and it was blowing closer. 

Mahad breathed in, and he could taste it on his tongue -- rain. An absolute deluge was on its way. 

“There is a cave nearby,” Cahal murmured, the first time he had spoken since they properly dismantled their campsite that morning. “We can take shelter from the storm.”

Mahad frowned thoughtfully. He had more than a few spells designed for protection against the weather, but it would still be more comfortable to rest until the storm passed. After all, he was in no rush to reach his destination -- if they left the next morning, they would still make it by evening, and something in him trembled with anticipation at the thought of being stranded in a cave with Cahal until the next morning. 

“Lead the way,” Mahad managed after a deep breath, though his pale, trembling fingers tightened around his staff. 

Cahal did, off the path, winding up through some hills, where jagged red volcanic rocks jutted between the roots of trees. The wind hissed through the trees, the leaves flipped to bare their pale underbellies, and already Mahad could feel the slight spittle of rain coming down upon them. But soon he saw it -- the yawning maw of a cavern squatting against the hillside, flanked by conifers that further shaded in the opening. 

Cahal knew these lands well to remember the location of such a well-hidden place. 

Just as they ducked into the shadows of the overhang -- where gnarled roots dangled down like arms stretched in greeting, lightning tore the sky asunder, and with a great roar, the rain came pounding down in sheets. 

Mahad frowned. Spells or no, that would not have been a pleasant scenario in which to get caught. He tapped his staff on the ground, and the orb embedded at the other end glowed with a gentle bluish white. He turned, but Cahal was already farther into the cave, where it opened up into a cavern, dry and free of roots. Mahad sighed with relief when he no longer had to stoop to keep his helmet from dragging on the rocky ceiling. Cahal’s head turned, and his slitted pupils -- dilated to compensate for the darkness -- reflected Mahad’s light back in quite the eerie display. 

Night vision. Utterly fascinating. 

“We can make camp here. Any smoke will filter out through tunnels above our head.”

Mahad hummed, looked about. The same red volcanic rock made up the walls, floors, and ceiling of the cavern. It seemed to be the bowels of an extinct volcano, and no doubt the tunnels Cahal mentioned were old magma veins. It was likely water would leak down as the downpour continued. 

He tapped his staff again, and small orbs of fire flitted out about the room to illuminate it. It was indeed large, rivaling his laboratory, and it seemed that there were several offshoots and other tunnels leading deeper into the hillside. Mahad could sense no other large organisms besides himself and Cahal. 

Cahal blinked, adjusting to the change in light, pupils contracting, and he regarded Mahad quietly as he stepped to the center of the room. Another tap, and a neat stack of firewood. A pass of his staff, and it was alight. The fire danced up, crackling and healthy. 

It was the only thing to fill the tense silence hovering between them. 

“I…” Mahad started, deciding to simply force it out now, because the answer had been staring him in the face ever since the night before. “I accept your offer, Cahal. I… I-I want it. Want _you_.” He trembled, yearning surging through him all at once, though he shrank back with trepidation when Cahal took one short step toward him. 

“I _feel_ it, Mahad; you _ache_ to be touched, but your nerves overwhelm you. I do not want to rush you into something for which you are not ready.”

Mahad breathed out hotly. “I… I’ve not the touch of another…” he murmured, looking up at those concerned amber eyes. “... ever.”

“You mean--” and Cahal’s own sharp intake of breath interrupted him.

“I am a…” the first words rushed out, but then Mahad’s tongue fumbled in his mouth. “A _virgin_ , Cahal. In every sense of the word.”

“For all this time? By the divines, you’ve lasted _this_ long?!” 

A fierce blush threatened to melt Mahad's cheeks off, and he turned away. 

“It is no wonder lust boils beneath your flesh,” Cahal murmured, stepping close, closer, close enough for Mahad to feel his heat even through their clothing. His insides melted at the sensation. “Three millennia of existence without expressing your animal urges… an amazing feat…” A hand, heavy but gentle, on his shoulder. “... for such a hot-blooded man.”

“I’ve… I have… _expressed_ it. But not with the help of another…” He sighed, tight and aching. “It is so very hard to trust someone that much, to allow that much vulnerability.” A choked breath. “I have only ever trusted one man that much.” But nothing ever came of it -- and nothing ever will. He'd never have Atem.

“Will you trust me now, Mahad?” Cahal whispered, gently squeezing Mahad’s shoulder.

“I want to,” Mahad replied, turning. “I _yearn_ to.”

“Still you are tense.” Cahal kneaded down Mahad’s arm. “Such posture is not conducive for pleasure.” The callused pads of his fingertips brushed at Mahad’s chin. “Would you be willing to disrobe for me?”

Mahad couldn’t look away from those amber eyes, blazing in the firelight. “If…”

“I won’t look,” Cahal assured, “if it will make you more comfortable.”

And Mahad nodded as Cahal turned away, shoulders shifting, and then the armor was rustling and coming off. Cahal slowly, quietly set it on the ground. He kept the blue cloak underneath on, though he crouched down to pull off his boots and gently set his sword in its scabbard next to his armor, helmet included. He smoothed his strong hand through his pale hair, gleaming like gold. His long, pointed ears peeked out among the flaxen strands. 

Then he sat, cross-legged on the floor, his back to Mahad, stone-still, though his ears twitched slightly.

Mahad blinked and shook his head. 

Ah, he was… was… supposed to be getting naked. 

He shivered, his nerves rattling in his body. He licked his lips. 

But… he could… he could say 'no' at any time, and Cahal would understand. 

The thought made him relax, just enough. With both his hands and his magic, he peeled his light armor and his robes from his body and set them on the ground, folded and piled neatly. The air of the cave was cool against hot skin. A shiver raced through him. 

He parted his lips, arms self-consciously wrapping around his pale body. 

But Cahal spoke for him. Low and soothing. "Get comfortable on your bed roll. On your stomach, preferably."

Mahad's fingers trembled against his own ribs. He looked down at the pinkish-red stone floor of the cavern. His bedroll was by no means uncomfortable but he’d always imagined… 

He licked his quivering lips, then pressed them together. _If_ he could manage this. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrated, on the magic in his veins, on the spell. He murmured the words, whispered on his lips that carefully mouthed each syllable. The magic weaved around him, strands slipping around and into one another, until a tight-knit pattern from from the ether. 

The air shimmered. The shape coalesced. Then solidified, until it was there with them in that cavern.

Intricately carved mahogany frame; plush mattress; soft royal blue sheets and blankets and pillows. His bed, straight from his quarters. The topmost blanket was still wrinkled from when he had set his satchel on it before he left. Knees shaking, he climbed on, listened, cheeks hot, at the creaking it made. He shuffled a pillow out of his way, laid himself down on his stomach. The texture of the blanket against his sensitive skin was nearly overwhelming. 

He breathed out slowly, pressed his cheek to the material. His fingers curled hard into the blanket. Every inch of his body ached. His muscles were wound tight, tensed again. 

His lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue, but only a strained whimper bubbled out of his throat. His hands clenched. 

He heard Cahal stand, the shifting and shuffle of clothing and feet on stone. 

“Keep your head down,” Cahal murmured, and Mahad felt his jaws clench until his molars gritted together. “Don’t look back. Just trust me.” A hot, calloused, gentle hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes squeezed shut harder, until colors flashed on the backs of his eyelids. “I will not do anything to harm you, to push you further than you are ready to go.” 

Mahad nodded, quick, jerky movements against the mattress. He _wanted_ this, but… fantasizing about doing something and actually doing it were two very, _very_ different things, he realized.

“I took some oil of mine out of the satchel,” Cahal murmured.

Mahad’s breath sawed in and out of his nose. This -- This was going too fast --

“Relax,” Cahal soothed, low and nearly _crooning_. “Mahad, nothing like that is going to happen yet. Do you understand?”

“Wh-What…” But he choked and nuzzled at the blanket. 

“I am going to give you a massage first, get some of this tension out of your muscles first, and we shall see how you feel after that, yes?”

A tight breath. “Y-Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to have the second part (the smut part) up before the end of the weekend. Guess it really depends on how, uh, long it gets.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we have all been waiting for ~~ Hot Runeshipping smut. Angel, I hope you enjoy <3

Warm, it dribbled onto his back, and he exhaled roughly as it dripped along the planes of muscle and bone. The bed sank in some parts and lifted again in others as Cahal shifted his weight. The hair resting on the back of Mahad’s neck was shifted over his shoulder by a single finger, and then big, hot, callused hands set down on his back, just between his shoulder blades. They smoothed up, down, out, kneaded the stiff muscles and rigidly-set bones.

Up, cupping the backs and sides of his neck, thick thumbs digging into knots. Mahad whimpered at the tender pain as the tension diffused little by little with each dip of those thumbs. The same treatment was lathered into his shoulders, down each arm, and Cahal even gently picked up each hand to expertly dig his thumbs into the palms, the meaty parts, along the fingers. The arms fell limp when Cahal released them. Those hands shifted to his back again, splaying and then kneading against the tense lines of Mahad’s body. The oil was warming against his skin, and Mahad breathed deeply.

He recognized the scent -- he’d made this oil for Cahal some time ago, to help aches and pains from old injuries. 

Down, gentle but firm, along his ribs, next to his spine, then the small of his back. Briefly, his buttocks, making him gasp and tense against the blankets, but Cahal was quick to move on, kneading the meat of Mahad’s thighs. Each leg, thigh, calf, foot (which made Mahad whimper into the blankets and try his damndest not to kick Cahal right in the face with how ticklish he was there), then back up. 

The methodical massage became more indulgent, luxurious, longer, slower passes, up his back, around his shoulders, down, up, down, to the ribs, back up, the shoulders again. 

He exhaled. Time melted away, and so did Mahad. Cahal’s strong hands were amazing, kneading the tension out of him slowly but surely. They made his strung-out nerves sing and tingle with euphoria. He was drifting in a sleepy, relaxed haze. It was the most languid he had been in years. 

He sighed, nuzzled the bed.

“Mmmm,” he hummed. 

This time when those hands kneaded his buttocks, he purred. The touch drifted away, but the nature of it changed. Between motions, those fingers would trace small, tingling circles into his flesh. His breath caught, felt himself twitch and squirm when pads of fingers would brush over spots that made his nerves jolt beneath his skin. Then a whole hand, flat on his back, pushing up -- not to massage but with some _other_ intention -- then settling on the back of his neck, thumb teasing his hairline and making the strangest sound drop from his lips. 

His cheeks were hot, his breath rushing from his lungs and his heart racing. The bed shifted and dipped, and Cahal was straddling his thighs and sitting over him on the mattress. Mahad felt _vulnerable_ again, knowing Cahal was looming over him like this, but… he didn’t mind so much. It was making heat lick up the insides of his thighs and warmth was coiling low in his stomach. So he said nothing, rubbed his hands on the blanket as he began to feel overwhelmed in the _best_ of ways. 

Cahal leaned down, his cloak falling around them and curtaining Mahad in a bubble of heat. Lower, and blond strands tickled the back of his neck. Hot breath against his ear, and he trembled. He went to move his head, but the hand on the back of his neck tightened ever so slightly. 

“Don’t look back, Mahad,” Cahal whispered, breath wafting hot on Mahad’s ear, his voice rough and _raw_ \-- _aroused_ , and making Mahad twitch against the blankets. 

Mahad could only pant and nod, and _whimper_ when those lips shifted to kiss right below his hairline. Mouthing, and he trembled, Cahal’s name a soundless whisper on his lips. Lips parted and pressed, then _sucked_ , and a high, lewd noise drew long and loud from Mahad’s lungs. His hands gripped hard at the blankets, but he slumped back down when Cahal pulled away. 

The back of his neck endured another soft, teasing squeeze, and then that hand was migrating back downwards. Wherever those thick but dexterous fingers scoured another spot that made Mahad twitch, hot lips greeted his skin. Kissing, mouthing, sucking. Mahad gasped and jolted against the blankets when a tongue flicked, laved. Teeth bared and brushed, and then the gentlest of bites, Mahad arched and gasped. 

That heat was pumping through him now, traveling through his veins and making his whole body _ache_ , in another way entirely, in a way that made his fingers shake and his hips twitched against the bed. Each touch was hungry but purposeful, teasing and drawing up the tension lurking in every crevice of Mahad’s being. Like wings unfurling, stretching up, and Cahal was welcoming and encouraging it, urging Mahad to _fly_. 

Cahal was mouthing and licking and biting at Mahad’s waist, just above his hip, and his hands dropped down to grip Mahad’s pelvis with an intense, erotic squeeze. Cahal had long since shifted off of his perch above Mahad’s body, and Mahad’s legs had steadily spread, wider and wider as his subconscious encouraged his surrender to pleasure. 

So it was only all too easy when Cahal’s lips separated from his flesh with a lewd, wet _pop_ , and when Cahal’s hands gently tugged, lifted Mahad’s hips up until Mahad was on his knees with his buttocks presented so… sinfully. He rubbed his cheek on the blankets, curling and uncurled his fingers into the material over and over again.

Those hands were on his behind again, kneading, then _spreading_ him, then kneading, then spreading again, an erotic back-and-forth that had him blushing bright and undeniably _aroused_. “C-Cahal,” he whimpered, but when Cahal’s grunt of acknowledgement vibrated _against_ him, down _there_ , he gasped and tried to buck out of Cahal’s strong grip. 

“Mahad, don’t move,” Cahal growled, fingers curling into Mahad’s hips. 

He wriggled, but Cahal had him held there. “B-But--”

“Trust me,” Cahal breathed, and tickled and made him buck again. 

He _heard_ the wet sound as Cahal licked his own lips. He buried his face in a pillow, whimpered. Cahal was going to do it -- so _filthy_ , sinful -- _depraved_ \--

He arched, gasping, at the feel of that wet, _hot_ tongue. “O-Oh!” Lapping, laving, pushing against flesh he had never known was so _sensitive_. He couldn’t pant fast enough, couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. Unrelenting. His tongue was _unrelenting_. Mahad’s thighs were hot, shaking, without Cahal’s hands holding him up, he would fall. “ _Ahn_ ,” he mewled, writhing and lurching, wringing blankets and sheets in white-knuckled fists. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, to the back of his neck. 

It was so _wrong_ , and it felt so _good_. 

He was so unbearably _hot_ \-- Mahad was on fire, Mahad was burning up. 

He had to -- he had to --

He moved his hand, down to where he was hot and heavy and _leaking_ , making an absolute mess. 

But a thick hand wrapped around his wrist, pinned it to the bed. “No,” Cahal hissed, cheek against the small of Mahad’s back. 

“I-I-” Mahad stuttered, tongue tangling on his heaving breaths, tugging weakly against Cahal’s grip. “ _M-More._ ”

“More you shall have. Patience is a virtue, Mahad.” Cahal released him, but Mahad kept his hands down, his whole body shaking as he waited. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing, and he arched, biting his lip, whimpering, waiting for Cahal to just _touch him_ already. Then he felt the touch, and he exhaled roughly.

But it wasn’t Cahal’s tongue -- it was his _finger_. Rubbing, solicitous, oiled. Circling on the teased skin. 

“C-Cahal,” he whimpered, shrinking away again, but that finger remained. Massaging him in the lewdest way, spreading oil that warmed against his skin and made him _ache_ in a manner never before experienced. Cahal hummed, and Mahad realized that his hips were undulating, grinding against that finger. 

“You are a natural,” came Cahal’s husky words. “I’m going to touch you inside,” he growled.

That… that… 

He arched up, pressed back. “O-Okay.”

Oil dribbled over the digit, over _him_ , and he gasped, but then that finger was squirming _into_ him. He gritted his teeth, grunted. It felt strange, alien and foreign -- he’d never been touched like this, never even tried himself, but with the careful, oiled press inside, it didn’t hurt like he would have suspected. 

“Hot,” Cahal said, low and rough. “You are so very _hot_ on the inside.”

Mahad choked, mouth gaping wide as that finger _wriggled_. It groped along, feeling out every inch of him that it could. His eyebrows twisted into a knot on his forehead. Then --

He lurched forward, lips stretching wider on a keen that was silent until it whined out on the tail end of his breath. Squirming, thrusting, _prodding_ , right against some place inside him that made him arch and writhe. 

“C- _Cahal_ ,” he mewled, clawing at the blankets, saliva trekking down his chin as he panted open-mouthed. His whole body was moving, rocking, and when he felt _spreading_ , inside him, he realized that somehow, at some point, Cahal had slipped in another finger. Stretching out, rubbing, sliding back together, a thrust that had Mahad lurching back in response. 

Those thick, hot fingers were _inside_ him, making him feel like this, and the thought had liquid pleasure washing up on his insides and made him feel so dizzy, like he was about to fall right over even as Cahal propped him up on the bed. 

Cahal had told him not to look back, but as he arched, he dared to look _down_ , at his own body, where he was aroused and red and wet, where his quivering legs were spread so lewdly, where oil slicked the insides of his thighs, where he could see Cahal’s legs, still encased by his tight brown under-armour. 

Cahal was still fully-clothed, and here Mahad was, prostrated before him, naked and fucking himself on his fingers like some beast in heat. 

Mahad’s cheek flared hot, and shame curled in his belly, but he rocked back harder, begged for more with wordless moans and mewls. He just couldn’t help himself anymore.

And Cahal gave him _more_ , another finger, noticeable now, a bit of an uncomfortable pinch despite the excess oil slipping down his thighs and making the blankets an absolute mess. 

But Mahad was too far gone to care -- the stretch felt _good_ , and any discomfort created was made up for with the way those fingers suddenly rubbed, in slow, torturous circles, on that place that made him twitch and cry. Circling, circling, _pressing_ , circling. Alternating pressure, but still that absolutely sedate pace, like Mahad _wasn’t_ falling to pieces on his fingers. It wasn’t _enough_ , not enough to sate the hunger that was breaking free, unfettered and _vengeful_. 

“ _More_ ,” he groaned, sounding like an animal in the dim light of the fire, in the dark of the cave. 

“The only way I can give you more is if I--”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mahad whimpered, thighs spreading more, hips lifting. Cahal, muscular and broad, _taking_ him -- he wanted it. He _needed_ it. Wanted those hands on his hips and tugging, pulling him back, as something _thicker_ and _longer_ and _hotter_ filled him and pleasured him from the inside-out. 

Cahal’s inhale was sharp and audible, and the sheer _wantonness_ of Mahad’s behavior suddenly struck Mahad with all the force of a rockfall. He didn’t even consider how Cahal was feeling about all of this. Face hot for far too many reasons, he buried it in his arm. “ _Please_.” It was muffled by his forearm, and he hoped Cahal would do it, do _him_ , even if it was all inherently embarrassing. 

“Are you sure?” Cahal asked, fingers slipping out, and Mahad felt himself clenching on emptiness, and a whine coiled low in his throat.

“ _Yes_ ,” he choked, canting his hips back again. 

Fabric shuffling, then the slick sound of oil on skin, _skin on skin_ , Cahal’s hand on himself as he lubricated himself. Hot and humid and turgid, that flesh was then on _Mahad_.

Shuddering. Anticipating. Yearning. 

“C-Cahal,” he murmured, breathy, arching back and feeling Cahal’s entire length rub against him and smear that warm oil everywhere. 

“If you want to stop at any point, tell me.” Cahal’s voice was unrecognizable -- thick and throaty and heated, sexual and hungry. “This may hurt.”

Mahad nodded, teeth gritting, arching and pressing, trying to get penetration. “I understand.”

Strong hands grabbed his hips again, stilled him. Hot and solid, butting against him where fingers had been just moments before. He could hear his own fasting, mewling breaths, but above them he heard Cahal's rough panting. Pressure, spreading him, splitting him open on Cahal's arousal. The excess oil made it a slick slide, but Mahad's jaw dropped down as he was stretched, inch by slow inch. 

He could hardly _breathe_ as he felt the way Cahal's skin was sliding against his _inside him_. It was uncomfortable, but in the strangest of ways, in ways that made him want to buck and writhe and mewl. Cahal's every breath was a growl now, and they vibrated against Mahad's back when Cahal leaned down. His cloak fell over them, encasing the sex-heavy air radiating from them. 

Lips and teeth were at the back of his neck, right at the base between his shoulders, and each of Cahal's heaving breaths washed over his skin and brought forth a ripple of gooseflesh. 

Cahal had paused, he realized, because suddenly then Cahal was moving, tugging Mahad back gently, impaling him so deeply and making him mewl on a strained breath. 

Oh, by the sun, how much _was there?_ Every inch so hot and thick and making Mahad want to scream, not from pain, but from this utterly _feral_ thing crawling up the insides of his lungs and jumping from his throat and past his aching lips. And then hips were pressing into his own, thick, powerful thighs against the backs of his. 

Completely seated, making him squirm with how _full_ he was. Muscle-bound arms wrapped around him, squeezed him and stilled him. They were both panting, sweaty, the air smelling musky and masculine. 

Mahad was murmuring something, he was quite sure _what_ , but his tongue was tangled and he was arching back, _begging_.

Cahal's hands on his hips, pushing him forward as he pulled back, sliding out and making Mahad's eyebrows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut as he whimpered. 

A tug, before even an inch was out, and Cahal was edging back in. "A-Ah," Mahad breathed, spine curling. 

Working him slowly, pulling out just a little bit more each time before he was thrusting back in and making Mahad's head drop further between two pale arms clawing at the sheets and blankets and pillows. Before long, they were slow, steady, complete thrusts, long in and long out, slick and hot and indulgent, making Mahad's thighs jump and his lips quiver with each mewling pant. 

It was _good_. So good. 

"Mahad…" came the low grunt from above him, and he lurched back in response. Cahal sounded so raw, gutted, _wrecked._ He was feeling good, too. 

Skin slapping, a slow tempo, the bed creaking, the cloak ruffling around them with each movement. 

"You're taking it so well," Cahal breathed, lips at Mahad's shoulder blade.

Mahad could _feel_ Cahal's body flexing around him, pushing forward, pulling back, the hard muscles of his abdomen -- beneath soft brown material, bunching against Mahad's back. 

"G-Good," he moaned, beginning to push back, trying his best to meet Cahal's thrusts. It sped up in the thrust in, made his breath catch hard in his throat. " _M-More_ ," he begged, nuzzled a pillow and bit gently at its corner. It was… it was driving him _mad_.

Cahal sighed and huffed, pleasured, but he still gripped at Mahad's hips, tilted them just right. 

White hotpleasure. Mahad only knew he was arching and bucking, but Cahal was holding him down, keeping all but his hips still, and continued that slow, maddening pace but hitting all the _right_ places. 

" _More_!" Mahad cried. His fingers wrenched into the blankets. 

But Cahal kept slow, a rolling pace, steady like waves crashing on the shore. "Patience," he growled, one hand caressing up, from Mahad's hip, crept over his ribs, smoothed over a pectoral muscle. Those callused pads brushed his nipple, and Mahad jolted, choking. 

Yes, yes, _yes!_ His nipples were so sensitive --

And Cahal was rolling it under his roughly-textured thumb and making Mahad want to _scream_. A pinch, and tug, and Mahad groaned, throaty and feral.

Simultaneous, a pull against one hip and a sultry tug of his nipple, over and over. 

"C-Cahal," he whimpered, feeling so goddamn overwhelmed, so good, _this_ was paradise, even as Cahal tortured him with this slow pace that was building up beneath his skin, in his stomach and his brain and his heart. 

He thrashed his head to one side, clawed a pillow, the sheets. Everything was a disheveled mess, including _Mahad_. All of that tension in him was focusing, curling and churning into a hot ball in his center. 

He could only feel Cahal; curled over him; surrounding him with his body, with the cloak drape over them; _piercing_ him and pumping into him, so hot and hard and slick and _good_ ; moaning and groaning and growling into Mahad's ear.

And he was talking, rasping _things_ \-- "You feel so wondrous" -- "So loud for me" -- "Beautiful, Mahad" -- "So tight, so responsive" -- "You make me feel so good."

But Mahad had no response now, because Cahal's hand slithered away from his swollen, wonderfully abused nipple, down his stomach to where he ached for release. Thick fingers rounded the head, swiped up the leaking fluid, and then that hand was pumping, slick and making Mahad cry wordlessly with each stroke.

Mahad's body was crumpling, folding in on himself, as he gasped and choked. Heat, tingling and melting, gathered and it -- it -- it --

Snapped -- gushing and washing and Mahad felt everything inside him burst, his body bucking in time with the waves that crashed through him and made the backs of his eyelids flash with brilliant, warm colors. It was all flooding through him, through his veins and to his fingertips and his toes and flooding out. 

And he slumped, whimpering as Cahal kept pumping into him, _over_ him, hand slicked with Mahad's fluids as he stroked until Mahad whined and wriggled.

Cahal was still firm as steel, unfinished, but Cahal was grunting and growling, mouthing Mahad's spine. 

"Come," Mahad whimpered, breathless. "C-Come inside me."

Harder, faster thrusts, ones that made Mahad curl forward with a gaping mouth as Cahal ravaged his sensitive body, but that beautiful torture was soon to pass: Cahal lunged forward, crying hoarsely, his thick body pinning Mahad's down, and he burst, filling Mahad up with thick, blistering, wet heat that made him grind back and whine. 

Cahal was trembling -- Mahad could feel it thrumming through them both, and he twitched to pull back, pull out.

"N-No!" Mahad gasped, hand whipping out to grab at Cahal, but it got tangled in the cloak. "St-Stay inside." His blush climbed up to his ears, and he nuzzled the pillow. "Please."

Cahal hummed, stroked a big hand through Mahad's sweaty hair. "Okay." He wrapped his arms around Mahad and gently maneuvered them, onto their sides and away from the mess they'd made of the bed linens. The cloak was still half-draped around them like a blanket, and Mahad blinked out over the cave. His little orbs of fire remained scattered about the cavern, and the campfire was still lit but…

There were scorch marks on the rocks, on the ceilings and floors and walls. 

He blinked, sighed as Cahal gently petted his side, kissed at his neck. "Did… did I do that…" he murmured, mostly to himself, but Cahal hummed against his neck. 

(It made Mahad shudder, a flicker of heat licking up and threatening to reignite his nerves.)

"Yes, you did. The fires flared a good ten feet, maybe more."

"When?" Breathless, Mahad tilted his head, giving Cahal more access for his mouthing kisses.

Thumb back at his nipple, lips teasing close to his hairline, right next to that spot that had felt so good earlier. Cahal hummed again, though it was more of a purring growl this time. It tickled the nerves in Mahad's ears so deliciously. "When you were screaming my name and coming in my hand."

Mahad blushed, deep and hot. "I… do not recall that."

He _felt_ the grin against his neck. "What do you not recall? Making the fires flare? Coming in my hand?" Tongue and teeth flicking against the sensitive spot. Mahad gasped hotly. "Screaming my name?" A tweak of his nipple, simultaneous to a hard suck next to his hairline.

His mouth dropped open but his breath was frozen in his throat.

"Because, I assure you, all three occurred."

Mahad licked his lips, closed his eyes. "Maybe…" and it was throaty and thick, so he cleared his throat gently and tried again, "Maybe another trial will convince me."

Cahal nudged his hips forward, and Mahad mewled. Yes, yes, he was already getting hard again. 

Mahad lifted his knee up, leveraged himself back.

"Convince you I shall."

All three things occurred again, none of which Mahad could clearly recall. 

Maybe Cahal was a magic user after all…

But, for a definitive answer, more trials were needed.

* * *

Mahad's head whipped back, hair splaying on the ruffled pillows. Sweat gleamed on the pale line of his throat. In the glow of the firelight, he looked absolutely _radiant._

Cahal pressed forward more, hunched over and thrusting. Their skin was flushed together, hot and glancing off one another and it felt like it made sparks. Bare skin on bare skin was _so_ good. 

He couldn't get enough…

And neither could Mahad, it seemed. 

Cahal couldn't count how many times he'd taken Mahad now. From behind, twice in a row. Pressed flat on Mahad's back, like now, minus the lean, pale legs twining over his shoulders. They'd been wrapped around his waist then, feet digging into back and buttocks to tug him in deeper and deeper. Then both sitting up, Mahad in Cahal's lap. Lips touching, but it wasn’t really kissing, with the way neither could keep a lip-lock too long without panting or moaning or whimpering. 

And Mahad’s kisses -- clumsy with pleasure and inexperience, but they were eager and _consuming_ , devouring all like the darkness and shadows he could command at the flick of a wrist. Mahad’s hands -- fine-boned but sure and strong, even when they trembled, even when they scraped along Cahal’s back as he keened with pleasure. 

Mahad had taken to sex like a duck to water.

Cahal had known that deep within, beneath all the hesitance and self-doubt and prudishness, that Mahad was a hot-blooded man, but he never imagined it like this.

 _Like this_ , mewling and bucking perfectly in time, clawing and biting like an animal, howling and panting when Cahal gripped his hips tightly and fucked into him just _like that_. He never imagined that when they’d both come, writhing and gasping, that Mahad would sigh and pant and paw at him as he whimpered _‘More.’_

Beneath the stern-but-kind surface, there lurked an insatiable _sex fiend._

It was hard to imagine the stiff, awkward man he had been massaging earlier; he now had the most esteemed magician in the realm beneath him, begging for every inch that Cahal had to give, over and over again.

 _It was so damn arousing_.

Mahad was easily twice his strength (though perhaps not in the physical sense), and could dismantle him with but a flick of his wrist or a pass of his staff, but instead, he was crying and moaning and begging to be taken again and _again._ They were a mess with it -- sweaty and covered in oil and fluid, the sounds of sex between them wet and sloppy because Mahad had pleaded for his seed each and every time and Cahal couldn’t deny him such a sweet concession. 

Cahal blessed his Elven biology -- mating between two individuals could last for hours, even days, and he had more than enough stamina to feed his starved magician. 

He bent lower, tongue drawling out to lewdly rub at a swollen, tender nipple. Mahad cried, ecstatic, tugged at Cahal’s hair hard enough to make the nerves tingle. Mahad’s delicious pale body was so sensitive, and his reactions so _riveting_ , and Cahal exploited every little weakness he found. His nipples, that tender spot on the back of his neck, just under his jaw, along his shoulder. 

It always made Mahad’s body clench _like that_ , in ways that had Cahal squeezing his eyes shut with delirious pleasure. It almost _hurt_ , how tight Mahad could get. _Almost_. 

“C-Cahal!” he hissed, straining up, nails carving into Cahal’s scalp. The light in the cave flared brighter for just an instant, and Cahal could _feel_ it, the way magic bunched up inside of Mahad like a spring ready to be sprung. With each successive orgasm, the outburst of magic -- like the seed that sprang forth as Mahad messed himself further -- got weaker and weaker, but it was still noticeable, the way it bled from Mahad’s fingers and toes as he bucked and _groaned_ , low and throaty like a rutting animal. 

He twitched in Cahal’s hand, the slightest bit of fluid pulsing out sluggishly. It amazed Cahal that _anything_ came out. 

And just like all the times before, Mahad was tugging at his hips, hands weak and trembling, but still he urged him, “ _Inside, inside,_ come _inside_.” And, like all the previous times, Cahal had no choice but to obey, no choice when Mahad sounded so _sweet_ and sultry, when Cahal tasted and _felt_ Mahad’s satisfaction like it was an entity living inside him. Mahad all but _purred_ and kneaded at Cahal’s scalp. “Yes, yes, _yes_ …”

Cahal slumped on top of him. He panted against that pale, defined collarbone. He puckered his quivering lips against it. This _had_ to be a dream -- some filthy, wonderful dream. 

And then those hands were petting his body, stroking over muscle and dipping between their valleys. Settled into the pace and intimacy of sex, Mahad loved to _touch_ , it seemed, loved to map out Cahal’s body with his fingers and his palms. It made Cahal’s knees weak, and he was sure he would collapse if he weren’t already bearing his weight down on Mahad. 

Mahad was still panting and whimpering, twitching the slightest bit beneath Cahal. 

Cahal pulled back, despite Mahad's whines of protest, and looked down, watched himself pull out. He licked his dry lips. 

_What a mess_.

Mahad was absolutely _covered_. 

Amazing.

He dropped a hand down, pressed two fingers in. Mahad's thighs jumped, spread wider. Mahad was filled to the brim. 

"We need to get you cleaned," Cahal whispered, though he bent down to teasingly swipe his tongue over the mess on Mahad's abdomen. He looked up. 

Mahad's cheeks were dark with a blush. 

Cahal mouthed down, licked the fluid off his lips, eyes locked all the while. "There's a spring down one of the tunnels. A good place to wash you off."

Mahad gulped visibly, his throat bobbing in the light, and his swollen lips parted. "You, too."

"Yes, we can bathe together," Cahal whispered, and then a long, flat-tongued lick up the line of Mahad's navel. 

Mahad gasped, arched weakly, clenched around Cahal's gently probing fingers.

Cahal pulled away, regretful, but they really should at least _try_ to clean up before another round. He stood up from the bed. He groaned. His body was starting to ache and it felt so amazing. 

"Do you feel that you can walk?" Cahal asked, genuinely concerned.

"Would you carry me if the answer was 'no'?" Mahad replied, a wispy chuckle clinging to his voice.

"Mm, perhaps I would."

Mahad smiled, rolled over. Cahal hummed, watched that pale, toned flesh shift in the firelight. Mahad slunk to the edge of the bed, swung his legs over to touch the stone floor, and then he was standing.

He gasped, flinching, blush growing ever darker. 

Cahal touched a hand to his shoulder and steadied him. "Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes… it's just… j-just…" Flustered, avoiding Cahal's gaze and squirming.

Cahal looked down. "It's leaking." He reached down to touch again, fingers sliding in so easily. Mahad's knees buckled and he leaned into Cahal's side. "We filled you to the brim," he husked. He could _feel_ the heat of Mahad's face as Mahad nuzzled shyly into his neck. "There's so much." He spread Mahad lewdly with two fingers, watched the mess slide down Mahad's thighs. "It's spilling out."

" _Sh-Shut up_ ," Mahad gasped.

Cahal smiled against Mahad's crown. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Mahad straightened up, and he stood about an inch over Cahal, but his lean form was still dwarfed by Cahal's broader one. 

His supportive arm still wrapped about Mahad's waist, they stepped over the stone floor. The rock had been cool earlier, but now a definite warmth radiated up. Mahad's magic had leaked into the stone. 

Cahal's keen eyes easily penetrated the dark, but with a snap of Mahad's fingers, his staff was floating alongside them, pale light emanating from its orb. 

Cahal hummed. "This was a volcano, long ago, before even my people began telling their tales of it."

"I surmised as much," Mahad murmured. "The rock is granite, formed deep beneath the surface. It must have taken thousands of years of wind and rain for it to come to the surface out in the forest."

"Yes. Some of the magma veins have hollowed out, and they funnel in water when it rains or when the ice caps melt in the summer. I believe some water wells up from natural aquifers, as well." They followed the tunnel, until it opened into another cavern, easily the size of a cathedral. Warm, humid air washed over them. "It has formed an underground lake."

Mahad's staff tapped on the ground, and orbs of fire dashed to the farthest corners. Indeed, the pool of water was massive. He spun his hand languidly, and his staff rotated and tilted, and the glowing tip touched the surface of the water. The water rippled out, creating a larger and larger circle of light that stretched to every edge of the underground lake. Then it seemed the light _sank_ , down into the water, until it touched the bottom, and the rocks lining the bottom began to shine with a pure, pale light.

"You purified the water," Cahal breathed. "I thought you are a _dark_ mage."

Mahad lifted a shoulder. "One must know it all to be a true master. Though I admit I am much more skilled in the darker arts."

"Mm, this seems like skill to me," Cahal said quietly. He blinked, but the rocks were still glowing beneath the water's surface. That light was pale and cool, a contrast to the warmer light from the orbs of fire floating about. "It's beautiful."

Mahad smiled faintly, stepped out of the half-circle of Cahal's arm to dip his toe into the water. He looked over his shapely shoulder to meet Cahal's eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed. "The water is… hot."

Cahal took another deep breath. Yes, that warm, humid air fogged into his lungs. "The volcano has long been extinct. I don't understand --" But then it struck him, and he smiled. "It's all you."

Mahad shook his head, "No, I casted no such spell--"

"You released a great deal of magic each time you climaxed, and, if you recall, you orgasmed a great number of times." Mahad looked away quickly, lips pursed. "It had to go _somewhere_ , do _something._ It seems it warmed the surrounding area, leeched into the rocks and the water." He walked closer, wrapped his arms about Mahad's waist and kissed his shoulder. "Let's make use of it. I'm sure we'll both enjoy a hot bath."

"Mm, it would do us well," Mahad whispered. "We are _filthy_."

With that, he stepped down into the pool, waded out of Cahal's arms and into the water. Cahal followed close behind, admired how the light from the rocks washed up onto Mahad's lithe physique.

He sighed at the hot water washing up onto his body. He could _feel_ the sweat and the fluids and the oil coming off of him. He closed his eyes, sighed. It was good. 

A splash, water rippling against him. He opened his eyes. Mahad was beneath the water. He seemed to glide, his long, lean body so graceful as he swam. His long hair clouded about him, then it slicked back as he stroked and pushed forward. 

Cahal lunged forward, down, hot water enveloping him. He blinked, suddenly submerged in a bright, beautiful world. He locked onto Mahad's form and followed, felt the warm current flow around him. 

He surfaced when Mahad did, blinked the water away from his eyes in time to watch Mahad slick his wet hair back, watch droplets trickle down and cling to muscle and bone and delicious pale skin. In this light, he could more easily see the marks -- hickies and bruises -- littering Mahad's fair skin. 

He growled low in his throat.

Gorgeous.

Mahad was murmuring, swollen lips shaping delicately around syllables. Magic swelled around him, swirled and weaved and suddenly tightened. Mahad held a hand out, and the air above his palm shimmered. 

A bar of handmade soap and a cloth.

Cahal blinked. He'd hardly seen Mahad use any magic their whole trip until today, from the bed earlier to the orbs of light, then the water purification, now summoning of another object. 

He wasn't going to count the… sex magic. That wasn't at all intentional. 

Mahad licked his lips, side-eyed Cahal as he dipped the cloth in the water, then scrubbed the soap over the surface until it was saturated with suds. Mahad's blush had returned, and he turned closer to Cahal. 

"May I wash you?" Mahad asked, low and breathy.

"If I get to wash you in return," Cahal replied. 

"That sounds like a suitable arrangement."

Then that hot cloth was smoothing over him and rubbing in circles and tenderly washing every inch of his chest. Scars and tribal tattoos scrawled across his skin, and Mahad gently scrubbed over them. Cahal wrapped an arm around Mahad's waist, and watched and felt as that washcloth dipped to the water's edge along his navel. 

Desire was blossoming between them again, lush and rich like a thickly-petaled flower. He could feel it within himself, within Mahad. 

The cloth swiped back up, then down his arm, and Mahad paused a moment to grope at the bicep. Cahal flexed it, teasingly, and Mahad nearly _melted_ against him. Cahal could feel the way his breath caught. 

He smiled, lustful but affectionate. 

Cahal was strange for an Elf -- tall, yes, but hardly the thin and lithe form common among his people. He was broad, built, strapping with thick muscles. Where others were swift and nimble, he had brutish power, perfect for swinging a heavy broadsword. 

That strength made him what he was, and he was proud of that.

But it hardly left him as a desirable mate. Thin was attractive for Elven women and men alike. Cahal was many things, but thin was not one of them. 

But Mahad -- here Mahad was, touching his firm, defined physique, melting and panting with trembling arousal. The muscles seemed to be quite the turn-on for him. So Cahal played it up, flexed when Mahad kneaded, listened to his breathing quicken. 

Cahal's front was all lathered up, and the suds twined down his chest and the planes of his abdomen. Mahad set the soap and cloth on a rock jutting up above the water's surface next to him. 

Then, he cupped the water in his beautiful hands, brought it up and pressed it to Cahal's chest, rinsed and swiped away the foam until only gleaming flesh remained. Even still, Mahad kept touching. He bit his own lip and explored Cahal with open palms. 

A tight sigh washed from Cahal's lungs. It felt good -- amazing -- but he gently wrapped his hand around Mahad's wrist. "I do believe we made a deal, magician."

Mahad nodded, lips parted and quivering with each of his fast breaths. 

Cahal washed that body with as much relish as he had massaged it, as he had pleasured it. Mahad was just as responsive, arching and sighing and huffing beneath the attention. Cahal rinsed suds away. The water gleamed like little jewels on his pristine skin, and Cahal dipped down to kiss one away. Mahad's hands were in his hair, tangling in the wet strands. He tugged gently and whimpered. 

Cahal took a moment to pant, and then he tugged up, gently, and Mahad's long, thin legs wrapped around his waist. Cahal parted his lips, licked the water from a swollen nipple. One hand dropped lower, between pert cheeks. He rubbed a finger solicitously over a quivering entrance. 

"C-Cahal," Mahad gasped, arching against his mouth and his hand. 

"We--" He turned his cheek against Mahad's chest, listened to his heart thunder away in his ribcage. "We need to make sure you are clean down here, too." He groaned, dipped his fingers inside. Still so slick and _welcoming_. "I dirtied you so thoroughly."

Mahad jerked himself down, impaled himself on those fingers. He choked hoarsely. "Do it again," he panted, head tilted back, wet hair slicked to his pale shoulders. "Dirty me again." He was undulating, dancing on Cahal's fingers. "Make me _filthy_." His words ended on a lustful whimper. 

Cahal groaned. "Insatiable." He slowly, carefully stepped back, until his calves knocked into the raised edge of a rock. He sat, and Mahad quickly rearranged himself. He kneeled over Cahal's lap, reached back, lined them up. He tried to kiss Cahal as he sank down, but his mouth dropped open, and he nuzzled against Cahal's cheek instead.

Cahal grunted. He gripped those slim hips, timed that first downward first. 

Mahad's head kicked back. " _Ahh."_

Welcoming, but still so tight, so hot. Cahal bucked up with each downward thrust. Mahad was an absolute vision above him, the way he bounced and writhed and clawed. Yes, that feral scratching, but his nails skating uselessly down Cahal's wet flesh. Cahal leaned forward to kiss and lick at that beautiful neck, to dip down and suck at tender nipples. Mahad clawed harder, deeper, but still couldn't find traction enough to genuinely scratch.

Disappointment wriggled in Cahal's stomach. 

He arched up and back, mouthed at Mahad's pretty, pale jaw. Then Mahad's head turned. Lips and a tongue greeted his own, though the kiss could only last so long before Mahad was panting and mewling against his lips.

"More," Mahad cried, and _finally_ his nails found purchase just under Cahal's shoulder blades and he clawed down over heaving, flexing muscle. 

Cahal's keening moan pushed out through gritted teeth, but he eagerly turned and lunged, pinned that pale form to glowing rock. Mahad mewled in euphoria, bouncing with each hungry thrust of Cahal's hips. Cahal's name was a carnal serenade on his bruised lips. 

When Cahal's eyes closed, still yet all he could see were lights.

* * *

It was after their… bath, a meal, and some well-earned sleep (and some heavy-petting that ended in trembling breaths and quick orgasm) that one of them decided it was finally time to peek their head out of the cave to check the weather. So Cahal padded out, only in his brown pants. Already, he could see morning light shining through the conifers. 

But that was not what caught his eye. Vines, luscious trees, thickly-petaled flowers, all decorated heavily the mouth of the cave. He stepped out, mouth dropped in awe, looked up at the blossoms and lush foliage pressing up from the dirt, from moss and bark. 

The air was thick with rain, heady with the scent of water and flowers and greenery. Magic hung about in a dense aura, and it was recognizable to Cahal in a way few else was -- Mahad. 

It seemed he had done more than flared fires and heated rocks when he had been in the throes of pleasure.

Cahal grinned breathlessly. He couldn't wait for Mahad to see this.

It was beautiful, and a good omen for the wonderful day to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a conclusion to their journey, to Mahad's mission, but is it a conclusion to the intimacy blossoming between the Dark Magician and the Celtic Guardian...?


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All spirits mentioned are historical figures chosen at random by yours truly. Literally just ones that popped up off the top of my head. Sorry for the wait, Angel! But, here you are!

They prepared to leave, campfire cleared away, orbs of fire banished, Mahad's bed returned from whence it came. The cave looked so empty, with no trace of them left behind, save for residual heat in the rocks. 

Cahal eyed Mahad's back as Mahad stared out over the cavern before they left. Wistfulness was warm and thin in Mahad's chest, Cahal could feel it. Anxiety prickled behind it, but it seemed Mahad was trying to push it from his mind. 

Cahal understood the wistfulness -- this cave was now the home of very  _ cherished _ heated memories, but perhaps especially sweet for Mahad, who had been introduced to the pleasure of sex with another living being for the first time here within these stone walls. But the anxiety gave Cahal cause for concern. He touched Mahad's waist, over his silky robe. 

\-- It was strange, seeing Mahad fully clothed again --

"We should leave, if we wish to make it by evening," Cahal said quietly.

"Yes…" Mahad murmured, looking over his shoulder, smile small and demure.

Cahal reached forward and traced the line of that faint smile with a gentle thumb. Mahad's eyes lowered, his lashes shuttering over his crystalline eyes. His lips puckered, slow and subtle, against the pad of Cahal's thumb. 

Cahal drew his hand back with a sharp inhale.  _ You underestimate your charm, magician _ , he had said. And it was true; he could  _ feel _ that Mahad did not know, did not understand how seductive his simple mannerisms were. Did not know how his eyes had cried out, how he had projected his loneliness for all to see. Did not know how maddening he was, with that thick aura of repressed arousal swathing around him in a miasma of aphrodisia. 

Cahal had already found Mahad undeniably attractive, and it had taken him all of his restraint not to pounce on his fair magician since even before their journey together. Mahad was more beautiful and desirable than any Elf Cahal had previously encountered, and it was Duel Spirit custom to pursue those of interest with open vigor and abandon, but Mahad had clear reservations, and he deserved to have those reservations respected.

In all honesty, Cahal had never expected Mahad to accept his offer, but he would have rather put it out to give Mahad a chance to release the unbearable tension stewing within him than to sit and watch such a noble, kind man suffer.

Mahad was blushing again, shy, despite his entirely wanton behavior. He acted once again like a bashful virgin, despite how he had panted and begged for Cahal's seed.

Or, perhaps, it was  _ because _ of that behavior that his social anxiety had cropped up once again. 

"I want to kiss you," Cahal whispered.

Mahad nodded, just slightly, his tongue quickly swiping over his lips. He cupped Mahad's cheek, brushed a thumb over that high cheekbone and felt that down-soft hair shift beneath his fingers, and he pressed close to taste Mahad's lips with gentle, mouthing motions. Mahad kissed back with the same slow intent, but when his tongue tried to join in on the dance, Cahal pulled back with heavy, panting breaths.

"If you kiss me like that, we shall never get out of this cave," Cahal croaked. 

Mahad licked his bottom lip again, seemingly mindlessly, and his hazy eyes were on Cahal's. 

_ Insatiable _ .

Well, it seemed Cahal couldn't quench three millennia of urges in one night. The thought made him shiver with desire. More nights, then. More days, tangled together, writhing and crying with pleasure. He would welcome a thousand nights with Mahad, a  _ million. _ More, more than that. A million was a great many, but it still didn't sound like enough.

"Come," Cahal rasped. Mahad's wrist was limp beneath his hand when he grasped it. "Let's go. We have a destination to reach."

Mahad lowered his eyes and nodded.

They breached the mouth of the cave, and Mahad gazed about with wide eyes. "By Ra…" he breathed. "It… was not like this yesterday."

"It's your magic, Mahad," Cahal said, gently plucking a flower from a vine dangling by his head. Numerous thick petals, a rich blue, the center a crisp, cool white. He offered it to Mahad on his open palm. It was very nearly the size of his hand. "It seems in the throes of pleasure, your magic is hardly that of the dark variety."

Mahad cupped the flower, held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. The petals shivered under the attention. 

Cahal gestured. "I can feel it, for miles around, the wildlife has been absorbing the energy you released throughout the night. This forest is thick with blooms and new growth. I don't doubt that in the coming months, it shall be bountiful with fruit."

Mahad's blush was even darker, his voice muffled by the flower. "I didn't know I was capable of this."

Cahal chuckled fondly. "I'm sure you learned a great many new things about yourself last night." He smiled at the insects and birds flitting lazily about, sipping the nectar and collecting the pollen of the newfound blossoms carpeting the forest floor and the trunks of the conifers. 

"I… did," Mahad murmured, lowering the flower. He gazed at Cahal intently, though shyness still tinted his actions. "Thank you, Cahal. You've done me a great favor."

"It was no favor, Mahad. It was my pleasure." He brushed his fingertips along Mahad's fine knuckles. "Come, you still have a book to translate."

* * *

The journey that day was spent in that comfortable silence. Cahal relished it -- he was quiet by nature, and it often made for awkward silences and lulls. But not with Mahad. Mahad, too, seemed at-home in the silence. He did not expect conversation, did not feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter. But when he did talk, it was often fascinating, insightful. He knew much, but still he was humble, still he was eager to learn.

It was a most attractive trait. 

His curious, calm questioning about Elven life and culture made Cahal smile, and he found himself equally curious about the culture in which Mahad had been raised in his years as a mortal. 

Mahad at one point even mentioned his form as a mortal -- broader, with darker skin, hair, and eyes. Cahal found it hard to imagine, hard to think of that pale, lithe form he had in his arms for the night as anything other than pale and lithe. It suited Mahad better, in Cahal's opinion. 

They stopped to eat just after midday, and Mahad hovered close, eyeing Cahal's neck when he tilted his head back for a drink from his waterskin. If they weren't so close to their destination already, if they weren't running out of daylight, Cahal would have accepted the silent offer in those crystalline eyes. If Mahad wanted it, Cahal would gladly take him in broad daylight, against the trunk of a tree, with clothes pushed out of the way just enough for penetration. Or perhaps he'd suck Mahad, soothe him with his mouth and lips and tongue. He hadn't the chance the night before, but he could just  _ imagine _ the sounds Mahad would make. Broken, lost, throaty. Delicious, all of them.

But he knew already -- once he started touching, it was very difficult to stop. Mahad's body, his sounds, his responsiveness, was all an addictive concoction. Cahal could sup from it until he was fit to burst. 

So instead, he passed the waterskin over and admired those pursing lips from afar.

He'd get to taste them enough, later.

* * *

The fortress stood tall and pale in the evening light. It looked ghostly, derelict, a shell, wispy. Dead, for all intents and purposes. But within, it pulsed with magic. Magic of all sorts, flowing and oscillating together, intertwining and diverging and weaving together again and again. 

"A library," Mahad whispered.

They approached the water-stained doors, and Mahad had barely lifted a hand to the tarnished brass knocker before it was groaning open on ancient hinges.

It was open, and they were assailed with the scent of magic and the aroma of parchment and ink and dust. They shared a glance, and they cautiously ventured into the yawning maw of the doorway. They crossed the threshold of darkness, and, immediately, they were seemingly in another world. Rows and rows of bookshelves that climbed up to the ceiling, chocked full of tomes upon tomes. A library, just as Mahad had said.

Pale shapes floated between aisles. Spirits, those of the dead, drifting about with their arms stacked high with books and scrolls. They were ghostly librarians, filing away ancient texts into their respective places.

"I do believe we are in the right place," Mahad breathed, looking up to admire the seemingly endless shelves, the beautiful stain-glass windows, the dusty sunbeams slanting through them. Cahal watched him watch, saw the awe and raw curiosity in his eyes. He  _ felt  _ it, those emotions streaming through his own veins. Mahad was hungry to read every book, every dusty scroll in this entire fortress. "This hall alone dwarfs my entire collection," he whispered, but there was no envy in his voice.

Cahal chuckled. "He has had much,  _ much _ longer to amass his."

Mahad only hummed, and they continued down the main alleyway. On the cracked stone floor, there was a long, narrow rug upon which they stepped. It was woven from bright fabrics, but it seemed the colors shifted, continuously, and Cahal felt as though his eyes couldn't properly focus. But then he realized that it wasn't colors shifting.

"Mahad, look."

It was text, runes, scrolling and shifting like a never-ending stream down the length of the rug. The symbols never stayed in place to be properly read, so it flashed on in a series of meaningless sentence fragments and seemingly random words.

"Amazing. I wonder what it says," Mahad murmured, crouching for a minute to touch the rug. It seemed to  _ ripple _ under his touch, as if he had pressed his fingertip to a pool of water instead of flashing text.

They both looked up. A pale revenant hovered in front of them. It was a man, a human man, dressed in a simple linen toga. His legs faded from the knees down into non-existence. He blinked down at Mahad with transparent eyes.

"Hello," Mahad said quietly, and he awkwardly stood up before the undead spirit. 

The spirit blinked again, then turned. His faded hand swayed in a languid gesture. He was asking them to follow. So they did, trailing behind the spirit that drifted through the air as if through the water of a still, serene lake. 

The walkway seemed endless, that the rug and the shelves perpendicular to it stretched on for eternity. But within one blink and the next, it seemed the end was moving  _ toward  _ them, growing closer not because of their steps but because of some optical illusion, or perhaps by the aid of some magic. Cahal could scarcely tell; so much magic filled this place -- it was close to bursting at the seams with it -- and where one spell began and another ended was a complete mystery to him. 

But, either way, they reached the end of the rug, where up a small series of steps sat a long desk next to a lectern. Loose parchment and tomes were stacked up high on the desk’s surface. A small pile levitated up, and dropped into the arms of a waiting spirit. 

A quiet, solemn voice echoed from somewhere behind the wall of stack books. “Poetry, modern Japanese.” The spirit scarcely blinked before it was drifting off. “Thank you.” The next stack dropped into the arms of the next revenant. “Astronomy, Sanskrit. Thank you.” The next stack of books. “Mythology, Latin.” 

The spirt huffed, slammed the books back onto the desktop. A hefty stack made a hefty noise, indeed. This spirit was another in a toga. Perhaps a smallish man in life, but an eerie apparition in death.

The voice behind the stacks sighed, a long, time-worn, exhausted sigh. The man sounded like he’d had this argument a thousand times. “Look, Virgil, I don’t care if you wrote it, and I don’t care if  _ you _ think it belongs in the history section. You may have swayed all of Rome with your fancy tales, but you cannot sway me. Besides, you were quite late if you wanted to rival Homer on Classical epics. It all seems like a snide note to him written by a petty teenage girl, and I do not deem it material to go into the history section.  _ Mythology, Latin. Thank you, _ Virgil.”

The spirit huffed again, but did not throw the books down when they were dropped into his arms once more.

“ _ Again _ , I do not care about your feelings on the Iliad nor the Odyssey. If you recall, both of those are filed under Mythology, Greek.”

A purse of the lips from the spirits. 

“You are holding up the line, and I still have guests to greet!  _ Move along _ , Virgil. We can continue this… trivalty later.” The spirit finally drifted off. “That man is just as bad as Homer, too,” echoed the grumble that followed. The stacks suddenly parted. 

Cahal had personally never met Ancient Elf in person, but he’d heard plenty of stories from those who had, and still it didn’t prepare him for the strangely youthful face that greeted them. Pale, fair, unblemished skin; the high, elegant cheekbones of Highborn Elves; long, dark hair; eyes like polished onyx; and pinkish sculpted lips. His pointed ears were the delicate, smaller ones so often adored by Elven women. He was a graceful, ethereal creature, so jarringly different than his title. 

“Hello, We’ve been expecting you,” he greeted, a small smile on his lips. He walked around the desk, and the stacks closed like curtains to once again form a wall. He still wore the regalia of the ancients, with his strange purple armor and the wispy underskirts pouring out from the tassets. 

“Expecting us?” Mahad echoed. 

“Ah, yes. I sensed the magic of that book some time yesterday morning. And, of course, you two caused quite the disruption in the balance of things last night,” he beamed at them, and Cahal immediately sensed the other Elf’s vast years. He grinned at them like an old man grinned at the antics of rambunctious youngsters. 

Mahad spluttered, and Cahal himself felt the slightest twinge of embarrassment, if only for Mahad’s sake. 

“I apologize for any disturbance we may have caused,” Cahal finally managed. 

“Ah, don’t apologize. Such youth and vigor amuses me. Now, about that book you want translated -- I could do it for you, but, as you can see, I already have my hands full with sorting the newest additions to my collection. I know I have a dictionary for ancient Runic in this place somewhere…” He mumbled, lifting a hand, and a book floated to him, the pages turning rapidly as if in a stiff breeze as it made its way down to him. He hummed, fingers flitting along pages. “Ah, yes.” Already, a piece of parchment levitated next to him, a quill jotting down fast onto its surface. Within seconds, the note was darting into the hands of an approaching spirit. “Please fetch this for me. Thank you.”

“I… don’t understand,” Mahad said quietly. 

“Oh, Shakespeare here is retrieving the dictionary for me. You can borrow the book, but I want it back in two weeks’ time in the condition in which you received it. Or better.” Waved his hand dismissively, and the book in front of him zoomed away. “I already have the book you have in your possession, or I would have tried to bargain for it. Unfortunately, I do not have a translated version or I would have given  _ that _ to you, instead. Cuts out the middle-man that way, and saves everyone time. However, if you manage to write a translated version on your own, I would very much be interested in purchasing it from you.” He sighed. “Undead human spirits make such lousy translators and transcribers. They have little ambition.”

“So I can borrow the book as long as I bring it back in two weeks’ time,” Mahad repeated, mostly to himself, it seemed. 

“ _ If _ you think you can bring it back in good condition,” Ancient Elf added. “Ah, here it is.”

A spirit drifted up to Mahad, a thick tome in its pale hands. It outstretched its arms with a bland look on its face. 

“Oh, thank you,” Mahad murmured, carefully accepting the book. It was in a cracked, leatherbound case that had two small brass fastenings to keep it closed. The spirit bowed briefly and then it was drifting off again. “Thank you for your generosity,” Mahad said, more loudly, directed to the Elf who was back to sorting books behind the stacks on his desk. 

“It’s no feat.” A grumble, books slamming, pages rustling. “It’s getting late, so you and your companion can stay the night if you so please.” A little more quietly, mostly speaking to himself, but still loud enough for Cahal to pick up with his keen hearing. “I’m sure we’ve a clean room or two around here, somewhere.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Mahad replied.

“Oh, you won’t be imposing.” A hum. “There’s a strong possibility that I’ll forget you are even here. That being said, I wouldn’t rely on a provided meal, if I were you.” Books thudding onto wood, onto other books, into the arms of awaiting spirits. “I can hardly remember to feed myself when I have this many books to sort through.”

Mahad chuckled, “I can relate to that.”

Cahal arched an eyebrow. 

Mahad lifted a shoulder sheepishly. “It must be a spellcaster thing…”

A spirit drifted up to them again. It was a portly man with a receding hairline and spectacles. 

“That’s Benjamin. He’ll guide you to some… presentable quarters for the night. Feel free to stay as long as you like. As long as you don’t make a mess, that is.”

“Thank you again for your generosity,” Mahad replied. “I am truly grateful.”

“You are welcome, young man. Remember: two weeks. I’d advise a teleportation spell, next time.” His head suddenly poked out above the stacks of books, some ten feet in the air. “Like I said, no messes. I understand you are young and passionate men, but please refrain from getting my home messy.” 

Mahad’s cheeks darkened, and he pressed his lips together as he looked away. "W-We understand."

Ancient Elf smiled for just a moment, a sly grin, and then he disappeared behind the stacks again. "It was nice meeting you two!"

"Likewise. Thanks again!" Cahal replied, as Mahad was still stewing in his embarrassment while Benjamin began to lead them away. 

They trailed off after the spirit, who drifted ahead of them at a relaxed, sanguine pace. Cahal chuckled and took a sideways glance at Mahad.

The magician's eyes were downcast, lips still pressed tight, and he hugged the borrowed book close to his chest. 

"Don't be embarrassed," Cahal whispered lowly, settling a hand on the gentle curve of the small of Mahad's back. He rubbed tender circles there. "He was being playful."

Mahad's lips twisted and pursed. "I… I know…" His vivid, jewel-like eyes flicked up to the spirit guiding them along a long, stretching shelf chocked full of books. Books, books, books, as far as the eye could see. He took a deep breath, as if to speak, but said nothing. 

Cahal's eyebrows winged up. Mahad didn't want the spirit to overhear whatever he had been planning to say.

He dropped his hand and focussed on the path ahead of them as they approached the far wall (which, too, had seemed to come to  _ them _ ), and the small archway that stood there. They crossed the threshold into a long corridor. This seemed relatively untouched by magic (compared to the thick mess in the main library) and empty of undead spirits. A soft rug lined the middle, covered the dark stone floor. Heavy wooden doors lined each wall in evenly-spaced intervals.

Eventually, Benjamin stopped, and he gestured. Simultaneously, two doors open. 

The spirit smiled as they thanked him, and he drifted back off down the hallway towards the library.

Mahad paused, licked his lips, arms squeezing a little tighter around the book. "I was going to say…" He looked back up at Cahal, eyes half-lidded and framed by his thick eyelashes. "... That it's like he read my mind."

Cahal couldn't even react, could only watch as Mahad turned on his heel and walked into a room. 

Then, the heavy  _ thud  _ of the door closing.

Cahal blinked.

Then he laughed and shook his head.

* * *

The room was sparsely furnished -- just a desk, a matching chair, a small bed, and a surprisingly plush rug. Wall lamps warmly lit the wood-panel walls. It seemed that his room was adjoined to Mahad’s via another wooden door, but Cahal left it alone and instead focussed on armor and weapon maintenance.

If Mahad wanted his attention, Mahad would come to him. 

After all, he was sure Mahad was now engrossed in his borrowed book. He only had two weeks to use the dictionary, so he was no doubt hard at work translating, now. 

Cahal smiled fondly as he drew a cloth along his helmet. Mahad was, first and foremost, a hard worker. Though perhaps too hard a worker, for it seemed, sometimes, to be more to his detriment than his benefit. 

Despite what Ancient Elf had said, about an hour into their stay a spirit carried platters laden with fruits and cheeses to their rooms. Cahal voiced his gratitude to the silent revenant, and eagerly tucked in when the door shut. The food was simple, but it was delicious nonetheless.

It was some time later, when he was truly settling in for the night, that an almost meek knock sounded at the adjoining door. 

“Come in,” Cahal replied, setting aside the dagger he was stropping. 

The door didn’t creak when it opened, though the turn of the knob was audible. 

“Are you busy?” Mahad asked, quiet and low, through the cracked door. The slightest bit of light slanted into his eyes, made them sparkle and glitter like jewels.

Cahal smiled. “No, not at all.”

Mahad’s eyes flicked down, and he swung the door open wider. He stepped into the room slowly.

His bashfulness, his coy arousal, was  _ tangible _ \-- Cahal could taste it on his tongue. He managed to look away from those downturned eyes, those beautiful dark lashes, and he nearly choked on his own tongue when he gasped quietly. 

Mahad was not naked -- and somehow that made it all the more sultry. Because what he wore was just as revealing, left nothing to the imagination (though Cahal did  _ not _ need to rely on pure fantasy to picture Mahad’s nude form now, not anymore). It was a simple linen robe, and it clung to Mahad’s shoulders like it was wet, but still draped off of his arms in elegant, creamy folds. It was so fine, so thin, like gossamer, that it was translucent -- the soft shadows of Mahad’s lithe form were still tantalizingly visible, as were his dusky nipples, and where he was flushed and stiff with desire. 

He made such an erotic vision standing there, dressed like that and flushed like an undersexed, virginal maiden.

Cahal licked his suddenly dry lips. He realized, hazily, that Mahad was trying to  _ seduce _ him, but the flush on those high cheekbones kept him from saying anything on the matter. Especially since Cahal was the  _ last _ person that Mahad would need to resort to seduction with. 

Mahad looked at him through those lashes, and Cahal watched each muscle move when Mahad sighed tightly, as if he could barely fit in a breath when all of that desire and  _ longing _ was filling him to the brim. 

“Cahal…” he said, lips moving hesitantly around the syllables.

Cahal lifted a hand, gestured for Mahad to step closer. And he did step closer, within arm’s reach and then closer, close enough for Cahal to feel the heat radiating off of his body. Cahal touched his fingertips to Mahad’s abdomen. The linen was soft and smooth, not quite like silk, but sensuous all the same. Mahad inhaled again, a soft, eager gasp, and Cahal pressed until it was not just his fingertips but his whole hand pressed to that beautiful body. Mahad felt hot even through the material. He inched his hand up, up, feeling the definition of muscle beneath cloth. 

Cahal could feel his breath shortening, the beginning of hot, aroused panting. He licked his lower lip. Gorgeous. 

"Did you begin translating your book?" he rasped. He tilted his head forward, their noses brushing together. He could feel Mahad's breath on his lips. He smelled sweet, like the fruit that had been their dinner, and musky, like masculine desire.

"I--" Mahad's breath stuttered in his lungs and against Cahal's lips "-- I d-did what I could."

Cahal couldn't resist it anymore, and he ducked his head to press his lips to Mahad's pretty,  _ pretty _ throat. By the gods, this man was so damn beautiful. Mahad's breathy moan vibrated to Cahal's teeth. "Are you having a hard time?" he murmured against pale, pristine skin. His hand drifted, sliding audibly on linen. He felt that hardened peak under the fabric. He traced a finger around that nipple.

" _ Yes _ ," Mahad gasped, hands suddenly on Cahal's shoulders. He was arching now, pressing hard into Cahal's lower body. "I -- I -- I --" It seemed like less of a stutter and more of a string of moans when Cahal moved aside that silky hair to mouth at the sensitive spot by Mahad's hairline. He melted further into Cahal's arms, and Cahal purred when Mahad jolted at a gentle pinch of fingertips on his teased nipple. 

Mahad panted, held up only by Cahal's arm around his waist. He slumped when Cahal moved his head away, and the hand that was stimulating his nipple gently gripped his chin. Cahal brushed his thumb over those shapely lips.

As always, the simplest things about Mahad inspired such sinful urges in Cahal's mind, heart, and body. 

But he paused, waiting for Mahad to finish his sentence. Mahad only stared hazily at him for a moment.

"You were saying…?" Cahal murmured, pressing right on that delectable Cupid's bow.

Mahad kissed, licked, shy, wet tongue flicking out, swiping over the pad of Cahal's thumb. He sighed again, eyelids falling to a hooded gaze. "I-I couldn't focus anymore."

Cahal hummed. He dropped his hand from Mahad's chin. Down, skimming his abdomen. Past his naval. The flush on the head was visible through the linen. It was made transparent by leaking fluids.

Cahal huffed a breath, his own lips twitching, and he cupped that hot flesh over the fabric. His fantasy from earlier that day flashed through him. 

He wanted that pretty cock in his mouth.

Mahad whimpered, lurching and fluttering, grinding against Cahal's hand, and he pressed forward to lay breathy kisses on Cahal's lips, his chin, his cheek, his jaw. 

"You were thinking about this," Cahal groaned. "I was, too." He moved his hands back to Mahad's waist, and he walked them backward until his calves nudged the edge of the bed. Mahad was light, easy to pick up and spin, and it was a handful of seconds before he was splayed on the bed with Cahal standing between his legs. 

The bottom hem of the robe was riding up, and Cahal slid his hands up Mahad's thighs and bunched it up around his hips.

"We were told not to make a mess," Cahal said, low and husky, and he delighted in the way Mahad shivered under him.

"Th-There are ways," Mahad breathed, arching eagerly. "And I know a spell or two that could help us tidy up if we get too… dirty."

Cahal hummed, and he lowered himself into Mahad's arms.

Cahal needed no spell to convince him to touch Mahad like this.

* * *

Cahal panted, gently fisted that silky hair. 

"Mahad," he groaned, long and low.

Mahad moaned in response. The vibrations had Cahal keening silently through harshly gritted teeth.

It was almost hard to believe that Mahad was just a virgin no more than a day and a half ago, and even harder to believe that it was his first time doing some like this  _ less  _ just over an hour ago.

It seemed that his avid desire for Cahal's seed extended to even this.

Mahad pulled off, lips swollen, eyes glistening with lust. "Come in my mouth," he whimpered, hoarse. " _ Please _ ." And he dropped down again, tongue  _ just right _ .

"S-So perfect," Cahal choked, unable to tear his eyes away from the absolutely  _ lewd _ scene playing out before him. The robe was disheveled and parted, and flashes of swollen nipple tantalized Cahal as Mahad moved. His shoulder, his arm, twitching in time with his  _ wonderful _ mouth -- Mahad was touching himself.

Mahad was so  _ aroused _ , it wafted off of him in a tangible aura, buried itself beneath Cahal's skin and curled around his pounding heart.

Cahal bucked, met those stretched lips, and the totally  _ wanton _ sound it pulled from Mahad's lungs -- the way his pumping, jerking hand sped up and became erratic -- only drove Cahal on. 

"C-Coming!" Cahal warned, and Mahad pulled off, just enough so that he could suck hard on the weeping head, and he eagerly swallowed all Cahal had to offer.

Cahal was still bucking with aftershocks when he pulled Mahad up, back up onto the bed. 

He planned to suck Mahad again, but long, pale legs wrapped around his bare waist and pinned him to Mahad's flushed, trembling body.

"Inside -- put it inside me," Mahad mewled, rocking and grinding and heaving. " _ Take  _ me," he breathed, and his nails raked down Cahal's sides. 

Cahal groaned, and any and all protests died on his tongue when he pushed two fingers inside and felt Mahad, already slick and stretched and  _ waiting  _ for him.

He was already hard again, and he couldn't deny his little magician, especially when he sounded so damn  _ sweet _ .

He made sure to keep that robe on, though. He'd never be able to view simple linen in the same light ever again.

* * *

Mahad's cheek was on Cahal's chest. His pale finger slowly traced a long scar just in front of his nose. Cahal hummed, eyes falling closed. He gently rubbed Mahad's shoulder.

Lips puckered on the edges of a black tribal tattoo. Cahal all but purred under the tender attention. 

Mahad sighed then, his shoulder shifting under Cahal’s gently swirling fingers. 

Tension was bubbling up inside him, and it was only a matter of time before his words spilled out for Cahal to hear. 

So he continued gently petting Mahad’s shoulder, and patiently waited for Mahad to work up the courage to say what was on his mind. He closed his eyes and let himself go completely lax, despite the aches all over his body. 

Finally, Mahad started, quietly, “You had said you have been waiting to journey this way for some time now, yes?”

Cahal hummed again. He wasn’t sure what Mahad’s goal was in this conversation just yet, but a jittery nervousness was flitting through Mahad’s veins, that much Cahal could feel. “Yes.”

Mahad’s fingertips thrummed on Cahal’s chest. “What…” He sighed again. “What are your plans after our stay here?”

Cahal frowned, breathed out slowly. “I’m… not sure.” He  _ was _ planning on returning with Mahad, but it sounded like those were not Mahad’s plans…

Mahad licked his lips. “While I could use a teleportation spell to return to the laboratory, I… wanted to spend one last night camping out in nature. I was… wondering… if you would like to accompany me?” The finger tracing his tattoo became slow and shy. 

“In all honesty, I was planning on returning with you,” Cahal replied, smiling when Mahad lifted his head to look up at him. “In other words, it would please me greatly.” He stroked his palm up Mahad’s warm, smooth back. 

Mahad smiled back, coy and shy, despite all Cahal had done to him, despite all he had done to Cahal. But then that smile turned sharper, hotter,  _ flirtatious _ and sexual. “Do you want to know something that I’ve been thinking about?”

Cahal felt his own lip twitch. “I do.”

Mahad licked his lips again, and he gently ran a finger along Cahal’s kiss-bruised collarbone. He was shy, a little embarrassed, but he continued, low and breathy. “The orange firelight dying down. The warm breeze in the trees. Mm, that vivid blanket of stars in the night sky.” He leaned forward, tenderly kissed Cahal’s jaw, his chin, then, his lips. All slow, purposeful. “Just you and me…” He lifted up, centimeters away now. “Mating like animals in the night.”

Cahal playfully tugged Mahad’s body closer, that slight amount that they were apart now nonexistent. “I look forward to that, Mahad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided that this would be four parts, with this next upcoming chapter being an epilogue. 
> 
> Also, Ancient Elf is not as powerful as the Dark Magician -- he's just a very organized hoarder... XD


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of smut and some epilogue stuff to round this story off.

The firelight danced over the trees and branches surrounding their little clearing. The flames themselves were dying away as they gnawed on the last of the fuel placed for them. But Cahal made no move to stoke it, and neither did Mahad. They were both laying on their respective mats, but, now, they were placed close together, their edges touching. The auras of their individual body heat were mixing in the cool night. 

Moonlight also gleamed down upon them, washed Mahad in both cool and warm tones. He was so pale, so beautiful, lying there in the moonlight. His eyes were locked onto Cahal’s own. Tension, arousal, desire was mounting between them, and, though it was much less, a certain trepidation still lingered in Mahad’s emotions, and Cahal waited patiently for him to work through them before he dare initiate anything. 

But then Mahad bit his own lip, lowered his eyes, a pretty flush staining his cheekbones.

Simply gorgeous. 

Cahal’s finger twitched. He  _ knew _ Mahad was bare under that blanket and it tantalized him to no end. He’d seen Mahad stained in sweat and firelight, dripping with linen and the warm glow of the candles, and now he was eager for bare skin and the silver light of the moon. 

Mahad’s hand crept forward between them, and Cahal languidly reached out to meet him halfway. Mahad’s warm, slender hand grasped his. He drew it close, lifted it up to his face. His thick lashes were laying against his cheeks, and his lips puckered tenderly on Cahal’s scarred knuckles. 

“Mm,” Cahal grunted, shifting the slightest bit on his sleeping roll. Such a simple gesture had him hot with desire. 

Mahad’s lips parted, his tongue flicked out for the smallest, sweetest moment, and then he was moving Cahal’s hand down, calloused fingers skimming his neck, kissing his collarbone, brushing down his chest to the edge of the blanket cradled in the curve of his waist. Cahal blinked, intrigued, and allowed Mahad’s hand to guide him under the blanket, to the crest of his hip. Then Mahad was leaning forward slightly, and Cahal did, too, until their breaths were mixing, and it gave Mahad the room to tug Cahal’s hand behind him, to settle him on the curve of his buttocks. 

Cahal groaned, low and gritty, and he gently  _ squeezed _ the flesh beneath his hand. 

Mahad’s breath hitched -- Cahal could  _ feel _ it against his lips -- and he arched just the slightest, his lips parting wetly. He lifted Cahal’s hand again and guided it back, more, then, right there, slotting between his cheeks. Mahad was already warm and dewy there.

A grunt coiled low in Cahal’s throat.

Mahad had already prepared himself. 

Cahal rubbed there, with just two fingers, felt Mahad twitch and rock back. And then he pushed  _ inside _ , and the whine it elicited made his hips hitch up against Mahad’s thigh.

Somehow, he had pushed Mahad down, and now Cahal was above him, between his widely-spread legs, and bare skin was pressed and brushing together, sparks of warmth in the cool night that stoked the fires blazing within. He kept his fingers inside, kept stroking and rubbing and thrusting, making Mahad whimper and cry and twitch, his thigh muscles spasming and his chest heaving with each mewling breath. 

And then those thighs were wrapping around him, clamping him tight between them, and Mahad spun them, pressed Cahal to the ground on his back as he perched above him. The blanket had completely fallen away, now, and Mahad’s pale skin absolutely  _ glowed _ in the dappled silver moonlight. The fading firelight was but an accent across his one side. 

Mahad adjusted and aligned them, and then he was sinking down, head kicking back as he huffed and whined to the moon. 

Then, suddenly, there were flashes of light, small sparks in the shadows of the trees, drifting between trunks and branches and dancing lazily over the ferns and the grass. 

Mahad was tight and slick and riding him  _ hard _ , and they were surrounded by fireflies as the last embers of the fire died out. Cahal blessed his night vision that only advanced in the absence of warm light, blessed it since he could  _ see _ Mahad’s beautiful body in such sharp definition, and he gripped at Mahad’s waist and hips to thrust up into him and make him cry like  _ that _ . 

They were whirling, rolling, changing positions, pinning one another in this storm of passion, and Cahal could only watch as fireflies and stars reflected in Mahad’s crystalline eyes. Cahal was on top again, fucking Mahad into their disheveled sleeping rolls, and the fireflies were in a thick  _ swarm _ around them, attracted to the glow of Mahad’s magic like moths to a flame. It was a blizzard of flickering lights, hovering a few feet above their writhing forms. 

Cahal growled and panted, jaws clenched as he thrusted hard and fast, and he lowered a hand to stroke Mahad’s weeping flesh in tandem with each hungry hitch of his hips. Mahad arched wildly and  _ came _ , his swollen lips parted wide on a silent scream, and then he was panting, hot and hard, and begging and pleading, “C-Cahal, come inside me,” and he  _ did _ , fluttering against his lover, and he couldn’t help himself when he collapsed against Mahad’s heaving, sweaty chest.

Mahad’s hands were tangled in his hair, tenderly carding through, and trembling lips pressed a kiss to Cahal’s temple. Cahal plied quivering kisses to Mahad’s lovely collarbone, and, with a hitching sigh, rolled off him and onto his back. Mahad eagerly curled into his side, set his cheek on Cahal’s chest. They laid there, catching their breaths and blinking hazily at the fireflies still flitting around them, at the stars that twinkled in the velvet sky. 

Cahal traced his fingers on Mahad’s shoulder gently, and they drifted off to sleep beneath the stars.

* * *

Mahad tapped his quill against his lips, looked between the dictionary and the spell book, then jotted down notes on a separate piece of paper. It was getting easier as Mahad fell into the groove of it, and the semantics and structure was incredibly similar to more modern versions of Elven Runic languages. 

The subject matter he was finding was utterly riveting -- the channeling of literal cosmic energy, such as using the alignment of the stars and the planets to strengthen certain spells, the details behind the position of the sun and the moons that created an ebb and flow in the strength in certain kinds of magic. He briefly touched his hand to his face before he made another mark on the parchment. 

So focused he was on his work that Mahad did not notice when Mana came frolicking into his laboratory and began to talk to him. He was scratching another note onto the parchment when the quill was plucked from his hands. He looked up, mouth gaping open in offense. He met Mana’s sparkling eyes as she beamed down at him. 

“What, Mana?” he asked, exasperated and stern.

“I was trying to get your attention for five minutes!” She laughed and waved the quill teasingly at him. 

He frowned, as apologetic as his next words, “I am sorry. This is just… fascinating,” he said quietly, gesturing down to the books before him.

“I would hope so,” she chirped. “You have been buried in your work for the past several days.” She was leaning down, arms crossed on the desktop, and she set her chin on top of her stacked forearms. She grinned impishly at him. “Is Cahal coming over again tonight?”

Mahad stiffened, eyes narrowing and heart thundering away in his chest. “Pardon?”

Mana peeled with laughter, suddenly standing up straight, her head kicked back. 

He frowned at her.

She held a hand over her mouth, then dramatically dabbed at her eyes. “So --” She giggled. “-- So, you’re trying to tell me that it was supposed to be a  _ secret _ ?” She snorted. “Like, you were trying to  _ sneak him in _ , or something?” She sputtered again, slapping her thigh. “Man, you are worse than a teenager.”

Mahad pursed his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Listen, we’re both so old that we’re basically the same age at this point -- I’m not naive anymore, Mahad. I  _ know _ why you were having trouble for the past couple months.” She smiled, kind and genuine. “I’m glad you got someone to help you figure it all out.” She giggled again. “I was honestly getting sick of being blamed for blowing stuff up when it was all you, Mahad.”

A furious heat filled Mahad’s cheeks, and though a hundred different things burned on the tip of his tongue, he was speechless.

“All of the other Spirits around here have been pretty relieved, too,” she continued. “Since you’ve been storming around all moody and throwing sparks off like it’s no one’s business.”

He sputtered, pressed a hand to his face, unknowingly smearing black ink on his forehead and cheeks. 

“And I  _ knew _ Cahal had a thing for you, but I really wasn’t sure he was brave enough to actually  _ do _ something about it -- and I know  _ you _ didn’t initiate it, so I’m pretty proud of him for finally ponying up and  _ say something _ \--”

“I may not have started it, but I am no stranger to taking the initiative,” Mahad corrected petulantly.

Mana gasped, playfully scandalized, and Mahad registered the exact words that had just come pouring out of his mouth. 

He did not think his face could get any redder. 

“Oh wow, no wonder he’s smitten then. I’ve always heard that Elves like mates with strong wills,” she giggled.

“Mana,  _ enough _ ,” Mahad whimpered, his hands pressed to his face, only smearing ink further. 

“I’ve also heard from some concerned forest inhabitants that ancient conifer stands are now covered in flowers and fruits.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Guess you have a secret talent for green magic when you really  _ let loose _ .”

He groaned into his hand. He quietly relished the days he had the authority to banish her when she was being particularly annoying. 

She cackled.

Mahad knew he would never hear the end of this matter, not for some centuries to come. 

But that night Cahal arrived anyway, and even with their ‘secrecy’ blown, Mahad enjoyed every minute he had with his long-awaited lover. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this turned out a lot shorter than I thought it was going to be. I realized that a lot of the scenes I wanted to add were redundant and that I could sum a lot of it up with a much simpler scene. That being said, I may revisit this story at a later date and add some cute drabbles as I see fit. Angel, I hope you enjoyed this Runeshipping journery!


End file.
